#say goodbye to your ankles

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru is desperate, tonight.

in hindsight, you probably should have noticed all the ways he tried to clue you in on it. a touch that lingers longer than usual, warm palms resting at your hips instead of the small of your back— the cologne he only wears when he wants to get you hungry. he's too polite to say it outright, too contained to ask, but it's always obvious when you think back. his lips at the column of your throat this morning, the slightest whine to his voice before he got up. when you kissed him goodbye, still tasting bitter off the coffee he made you: a flickering, candle-lit heat to his gaze. 

tiny, tiny hints. that's his style. building up, and up.

crashing, the minute you stepped through the front door.

you could feel the tension in the air, in his body, the all-consuming desire in the low-curved smile on his lips— and of course you weren't unaffected by it. of course you were carried along, by the waves of his devotion when he kissed you welcome home.

of course you were.

what else is there to do, when you have a beautiful boy in the palm of your hand?

(nipping at your fingers, in search of scraps. breathing oxygen into your lungs.)

"baby…"

a voice like caramel, clouding your ears. your brain is mush, so stuffed with cotton you barely hear it, too distracted by the wet, warm muscle of his tongue — the warmth of his body, his hands, careful not to crush you as he keeps you pushed against the couch. groaning, into your mouth.

needy. 

such a rare treat, for him to let you see it.

a weak, breathy whimper bubbles up your throat, spills into his own, his tongue gliding against yours and ghosting at the back of your teeth. he tastes like mint. it's a chain reaction, the moan that follows — your meek response only fuelling the depth of what he must be feeling. the closeness he's craving. even though you're already chest to chest, heartbeat kissing heartbeat, beating in rapid, thumping tune.

with the way he keeps trying to pull you closer, you'd think he wants you to slip between his ribs.

"god, i love you so much. god…"

suguru's voice is silicone, honeyed tongues and teeth, but now the rasp at the throat of it is all you can hear. your senses are overwhelmed, wrapped up in notes of amber, cradled by his scent — his warmth flowing into your body and keeping all coherent thoughts away from your brain. no thinking, only him. your big, gentle boyfriend, kissing you with enough reverence to pluck pearls from the bottom of a seabed. keeping his knee in between your thighs, his big palm at the back of your neck, to make sure you can't run from the love he's giving you.

(not that you'd ever want to.)

love you, you try to say, ultimately sputtering on something like a mewl. suguru only pulls away to whisper praise against your lips, then he's back to waltzing with your tongue. he isn't fast — isn't rough — only intense, in the gentlest of ways. mellow waters lapping at the skin of your ankles, dragging you into the sea. you're being coaxed underwater, having trouble keeping up with the slow, deep rhythm he's set, his tongue in no rush to explore your mouth. you're having trouble remembering the first letter of your name.

your response only makes him hold you closer. there's no space between your bodies, nowhere further for you to go, but he's desperate enough that he's trying, pulling you up into his lap and wrapping both his beefy arms around your waist. mwah, mwah, two sloppy pecks against your spit-swollen lips, before he pries them open again.

you feel a little like you're dying. like you already died, and went to heaven.

suguru must have wanted this, all day. must have been waiting. it must have been a struggle just to help you get your shoes off, to close the door behind you before swallowing you whole. squeezing your body, like a fidget toy — though the way he handles you couldn't be farther from it. he just wants to feel you. to feel your flesh, and bones, and heartbeat, your tongue down his throat.

your boyfriend wants you to eat him alive.

(before he does the same to you.)

big, warm palms settle at your ass, and you know he's hanging on by a thread because he actually squeezes down, gently, feels the fat fill the gaps between his fingers and robs more air from your lungs before giving it back — heavy, bated breaths shared between the two of you. a gasp pushes past your lips, and he drinks it down. like freshwater, like cherry-red wine, lapping up the last drops at the bottom of the glass. a man intoxicated. drunk on you, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your shirt to feel your blood beat and rush under his palms. ba-dump, ba-dump. he feels, listens, rubs circles into your hip. you hold onto his shoulders, dig your nails into the fabric of his skin-tight sweater, feeling so doused in heat you fear your nerves will catch on fire. heat at your neck, at your cheeks, in between your thighs. he licks into your mouth, flames at your teeth.

as a child, your mother told you the sun was a lion playing catch with the stars. 

(you used to wonder what it would feel like to be eaten by it.)

it's dizzying. suguru's kisses are always intense — he's always intense — but it's not often you see him this visibly bothered. he keeps tugging you closer, closer still, little rocks against you, like he can't stomach the thought of you being anywhere else. his rhythm is getting sloppy, and your breaths are getting more sparse, bodies melting together like gum on a hot, scorching sidewalk in the precipice of summer—

chew, and spit. you can't think of anything else. nibbling at his bottom lip, just to stay afloat.

fortunately, suguru knows your body. 

a deep, steadying breath. he manages to pull away, his fingers shaky, deft thumbs rubbing circles into the skin of your thighs.

"s-suguru."

"sorry,” he exhales. his lips are swollen, slick and puffy, eyes so lidded you wonder if he's really there. if he actually got drunk on your spit. they're hazy, so dark you feel that you're staring into a deep, deep sea, sinking helplessly towards the bottom. "i don't think… i can control myself, right now."

(you aren't doing much better. droopy-eyed, lips thoroughly abused, drool seeping out from the corner of your mouth — his or yours, you couldn't say. a swipe of your tongue, and it's gone.

suguru inhales, shakily.)

too tired to speak, you lift your hands to cup his cheeks. they're rosy, cherry blossoms in the breeze, the fuzzy skin of sun-warmed peaches. hot, under your touch. when you smooth your fingertips against them his eyes flutter shut. 

a blissed out sigh flows from his parted lips.

"i think i'd die if i couldn't love you." the words are spoken with bated breath, as if he couldn't keep them lodged inside his throat, couldn't even try. when he opens his eyes again they shimmer like sheets of glass, leaves wet with morning dew. 

you don't think he's exaggerating.

"… c'mere," he sighs, running out of patience. "you're too far."

this time, he's more careful. beginning to feel sated, maybe.

one palm on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back. heavy, radiating heat, pouring from the tips of his fingers through the fabric of your shirt, your thighs wrapping themselves around his waist to offer him the same. arms around his neck. he hums into your mouth, appreciative. his tongue glides against the seam of your lips, until you part them for him; letting him kiss you how he likes.

slow, and steady. breathing you in, and out.

(like this, you feel less like two people and more like one construct. a mechanism. inhale, exhale, your chests rising and falling, the way dandelion seeds float up into the sky, the way pebbles sink and sink until they hit the bottom of the sea. 

you think you understand him, a little more than usual. you think you'd drop dead, too, if someone were to pry your limbs apart.)

"i love you," you say, rasping against his lips. 

ba-dump, ba-dump. his heartbeat says it back, before he gets a chance to. 

[lowkeyerror]

Talk it Out

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: Agatha All Along Finale Spoilers, Angst, I guess it's hurt/comfort, happy ending

Summary: The confrontation between Agatha and Rio goes differently with you there to mediate.

An: I've been itching to write for Agatha. I check the tags everyday for new fics, so I thought maybe I should contribute. Hope you like it

Masterlist

“Are you guys really going to do this? There has to be another way?”

Dark skies with ominous clouds loomed over Agatha's backyard. Rio was perched on the rooftop magic buzzing in her hands. Agatha stood on the ground exhausted from the trials of the road.

You found yourself standing in between the two.

“Darling, there is no other way. I don’t want to hurt you, don’t make me hurt you,” the rage dims in Rio's eyes as she looks at you.

You turn to the other woman. She’s trying to activate her powers, to no avail. You see a panic rise across her features. It's then that Rio begins her attack. When Agatha is flung back, you can’t help but scream her name.

“AGATHA!”

You attempt to run to her side, but vines snake their way up your legs keeping you in place.

“Rio please,” you plead with her.

Agatha answers, “She’s not going to listen to you sweetheart. Death is unkind, cruel even, and she cares for no one.”

Tears brim at your eyes hearing those words. Your whisper doesn’t get lost in the chaos, “That’s not true.”

“You can lie to yourself all you want Agatha, but she knows you’re full of shit,”  Rio hurls a vine at the witch leaving a nasty cut on her ankle.

“Look around Y/n, does this look like love,” Agatha spits out before her back connects with a tree.

Wires and vines alike start to wrap around Agatha, keeping her in place. Rio stalks towards her in a predatory fashion.

“End of the road Agatha, and you know where all roads lead.”

Agatha starts to beg for her life. This whole scene pulls your heart in two different directions.

Your magic was weak in comparison to most, but in this moment that didn’t matter. It was enough to escape the hold from the vines.

Just as Rio was going to blast Agatha out of existence you step between the two. Your hands outstretched to shield Agatha.

“Take me instead,” your gaze is soft when you meet Death’s stare.

“No,” Agatha and Rio speak in unison.

You shake your head, “You don’t get to say no. You need a soul and I’m offering mine.”

“It- it’s not your time,” Rio's excuse is flimsy.

“I’ve been around just as long as she has. I’ve sat by and watched her do the things that she did. I am your lover, just like she is. So you’re taking my soul.”

Agatha protests again, “She can’t have you.”

You turn to face her, “She already does, my love. I do not fear her as you do. I do not resent her. Spending eternity with her does not scorn me. I love her just as I love you.”

A scowl grows on Agatha’s face, “How can you forgive her?”

Rio wants to speak, but you place your hand on her chest, causing her to hold her tongue.

You squat down to Agatha’s level. Your hands caress her face, “I am grateful for what she gave us Agatha. Are you not? We’ve been alive for centuries, yet nothing has ever come close to those 6 years.”

“She took him from us.”

You shook your head, your voice was delicate, “He wasn’t even meant to take his first breath. We might’ve made him from scratch, but there’s only one person that gave him life, and you hate her for it.”

“He was my son too,” Rio speaks, no longer in her fighting stance.

Her eyes boring into Agatha, with a sorrow only death could convey.

Angry tears welled in Agatha’s eyes, “In the middle of the night. When we couldn’t even say goodbye. I was going to- I was going to do better for him, Rio.”

“I had to take him, and if either or you asked me not to… I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it. Don’t you think I would’ve loved to see him grow, Agatha? He was so much of all of us even at that age.”

“He was smart and cunning like you,  Agatha. He had your affinity for nature and balance, Rio. And he.. .”

“Was kind, just like you sweetheart,” Agatha finished your sentence.

Rio frowns, “I took no joy in taking him. In fact, taking a soul has never hurt so much. I didn’t just lose Nicky, I lost you too.”

“Tell her the truth,” you say to Agatha, who shifts a bit under your gaze.

“There’s nothing to tell,” her sentence falls flat at the end, in the way it does when she's lying.

Your tired eyes look at her, “Agatha, please.”

“I ran because I’m scared. Not of you, but of facing Nicky. If he saw who I am, what I’ve become he would-"

“Love you anyway,” Rio spoke with certainty.

It’s then that Agatha fully drops her mask, vulnerability on full display, “How are you sure?”

“You never hid yourself from him. He knows what kind of person you are, he always did. Maybe he wanted you to change, but he still loved you the way you were,” Rio spoke it like a fact.

It broke Agatha. She began to sob, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’m sorry.”

You began to free Agatha from her spot against the tree. Rio instantly broke the binds after watching you struggle. She was cautious in her approach, of the two of you.

Rio wraps her arms around Agatha. Agatha melts into the embrace, the warmth comforting her. Rio begins to wipe away the woman’s tears.

You watch with a tender gaze and relief flooding through your features.

“No more fighting,” you look between the two of them.

“What about Billy?” Agatha clears her throat, trying to regain her composure.

Rio deflates, taking a step back from Agatha, “I still-”

“I told you to take mine,” you speak up.

Rio’s eyes darken, “I won’t.”

You invade the woman’s personal space. Your arms settle around the back of her neck. You lean into her, forehead resting against hers.

She breathes you in calmly. Eyes fluttering close. You kiss her, deeply. You don’t focus on the pain coursing through you, but rather the softness of her lips, the eagerness of her hands, the warmth of her body.

You can feel yourself slipping, but it doesn’t go too far as you are roughly shoved away from Rio.

“ARE YOU CRAZY!” Agatha yells.

Your breath is ragged as your life force slowly returns to you, “Maybe.”

You don’t think as you shoot your magic at Agatha. You know her instincts, you’ve seen them in action. Without thought she begins draining you of your powers. As you crumble, she rises.

“AGATHA!” Rio’s voice echoes something deadly.

It knocks Agatha out of her trance and she quickly cuts the line between your power and hers. You lay flat on the ground with your eyes open towards the sky. You’re breathing is minimal but present.

Rio looks at Agatha, “You need to give her some back or she won't make it.”

Agatha’s hands are trembling and she tries to out the power back, but nothing is happening.

“She’s- she’s not taking it,” Agatha begins to mumble.

“Y/n you have to receive the power, you have to do it or you’ll die,” Rio says sternly.

“The soul,”  you mumble.

Rio growls, “Forget about the soul, I’ll figure it out, just please.”

Before Agatha can put the magic, back into you again, you’re hit with a bright blue ray of energy. The force with which it hits you makes you jolt into an upright position.

“Is she going to be alright?” Billy jogs over to the scene in front of him.

It’s not what he thought it was going to be originally and for that he’s grateful. Fighting Death was not anywhere near his bucket list.

“Did you-”

“I-I came to fight and then I saw… everything. It just made sense to help,” Billy’s eyes search all 3 women.

You answer him first, “I’m alright, everything is fine.”

“A-are you sure?”

You look to Rio, who is already looking at you, she tells the teen “You are free to go.”

He looks at Agatha first and then you.

���We will around if you need us, don’t fret. This is not a journey, you have to walk alone,” you tell him.

The boy is quick to wrap his arms around you in a hug. You squeeze him back and whisper in his ear, “We will help you find him.”

He nods at your words. He takes one more glance at Agatha and Rio before leaving the yard.

“When are you going to tell him about the road?” Agatha questions you.

“Later, after I’ve spent some time with the women that I love. Both of them,” you say hopefully.

Rio looks at Agatha, you both knew it was her call.

The woman let out a dramatic sigh, “Nothing too strenuous I'm exhausted from all of that hard work.”

“A bath would do you well,” Rio bites back.

Agatha rolls her eyes, “You just want to see me naked.”

Rio chuckles, “Well, it has been quite some time. I’m sure Y/n wouldn't mind an intimate moment with both of us either.”

You shook your head, “Not one complaint.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Agatha speaks.

“You love it,” Rio counters.

Agatha looks at you and then Rio before letting out a sigh, “I love you both.”

[hivemuthur]

Hi Anons! Happy Freakday! Taking this amazing opportunity to mingle two into one:

Lips Where Lips Were

viktorxfemale!reader explicit. What's in here? Perverted yearning, panty theft and face sitting :v I'm sure the day was stressful for him :< Never lose sight of your laundry, folks!

word count: 3K

author’s note: I listened to Smoke City Underwater Love. @rennethen beta-read and she was sick doing it so double thank-yous! And as per schedule, I name Fridays Freakdays, and on most of those you can expect some Freaktor action.

—

It wasn’t planned at all when you stepped into the laundry room with a basket full of clothes. Pure coincidence—or call it fate, if Viktor dared to entertain such grand notions when it came to something so utterly embarrassing.

He had just been loading the washing machine, half full with his meagre three white shirts and a few undershirts, when the door swung open. You entered backwards, nudging it open with your ass, your face obscured by the tall basket cradled in your arms. But he recognised you instantly—by the back of your head, the curve of your neck, your ankles. Again, utterly embarrassing.

“Oh my God, are you washing whites? Please tell me you are washing whites,” you asked, not bothering with a hello.

Viktor eyed the laundry in your arms, picking up what you were putting down, but simply replied, “Yes, I’m washing whites.”

"Mind if I invade?" you asked, already shifting your weight forward, basket pressing into your stomach. "I’ve mostly got darks, but I’m running out of underwear."

Viktor swallowed, considering. Having your underwear washed with his­—pretty good. You having no underwear to wear? Significantly better. Being unable to come up with explanation to denying you, he forced a nod, stepping back from his machine as if giving you space might help untangle the sudden knot in his throat.

"Be my guest," he said, voice steady despite the way his pulse stuttered.

You wasted no time, setting your basket down and beginning to sort through your clothes. Viktor watched as you moved, as your hands fished out a bundle of whites and dropped them in beside his. Then, with the ease of someone used to efficiency, you loaded a second machine with your darker clothes.

It should have been a nothing moment—mundane, forgettable. But when you leaned forward, he caught sight of a bra slipping from the heap in your arms, a delicate thing edged with lace, straps tangled. His mouth went dry.

A thought, insistent and utterly filthy, flashed across his mind—quick, scorching, and impossible to ignore. He almost turned away, almost shut the machine door to spare himself from his own treacherous imagination. But then, right there, in the tangle of fabric, were your knickers.

White as snow. Thin as paper. A tiny, pretty bow crowning the hem.

His fingers twitched. Good with his hands as he was, before he could think better of it, before his brain could catch up to his body, he snagged them—swift, seamless, a movement so smooth it almost convinced him it hadn’t happened at all. But the fabric in his pocket was real as day whenever he reached to check if it’s still there.

And now, Viktor has a problem.

He’s thought about returning them—washing them by hand and slipping them in with the rest of your white clothes. He’s also considered getting rid of them: throwing them away, tossing them out the window, burning them—anything that might make him stop. But whenever he comes close, he falters.

At first, just the thought of having a piece of fabric that was so intimately close to you is enough. Clutching onto the last ounces of self-respect he has, Viktor does nothing beyond tucking the knickers into his chest pocket, carrying them close to his heart whenever he feels like it.

The idea nearly backfires when Jayce asks him for a pen—the little metal loop catches on the fabric, almost pulling them out and exposing him for the depraved pervert he is.

From that point forward, Viktor says goodbye to your underwear every time he leaves his dorm. They lay splayed flat on his bed when he returns, and his mind instantly drifts to which parts of you they clung to. The curve of your ass, hugged tightly as you pulled them on. The waistband, with its little bow resting just beneath your belly button. And his favourite part—the delicate pouch fabric kissed by your sweet lips.

Then it happens again that his body overrides his mind’s restraint, compulsive in its betrayal. It’s a compulsion, yes, when his fingers unbuckle the belt, his hand palming his aching cock. It’s compulsive yet again when he undoes his fly, rubbing himself through his boxers, thinking of you. It’s compulsive when he pulls himself out and smears the precum pearling at the tip, pretending it’s your gentle fingers touching his heated skin.

And it’s utterly deranged when he reaches for your panties and brings them to his face. If he could snort it all up, he would. Instead, he holds it against his nose, inhaling deeply, greedily. It’s dizzying—the smell of you, sweet and intimate, proof that this was yours.

His fingers tease the head first, gliding over the aching spot just beneath, and he twitches in his own hand. His mind, corrupt and rotten, throws him the worst of images for this occasion—or the best, depending on how he looks at it. You, bending over, the seam of your underwear glaring at him from beneath your skirt. Your mouth, speaking his name. Then moaning his name as his hand is buried between your thighs.

His grip tightens around his cock. At first, slow, as he breathes in the remnants of you. He strokes himself languidly, knees bent over the bed’s edge, feet pressing hard into the floor. His hips thrust up, chasing more—more of anything to quell the ache inside him, the iron grip that coils low in his belly.

Your name spills from his mouth, ragged and desperate. He imagines you here, above him, thighs caging his head as you press down onto his waiting tongue. The thought alone has his cock twitching in his hand again, and he lets out a filthy groan, gripping himself harder.

And even though shame still lingers somewhere in the periphery of his thoughts, he cannot help himself. He splays the fabric over his face and licks where your lips have been cradled. And kisses there. And takes it into his mouth, sucking on it—the poor substitute for your soft pussy.

“Ah—fuck—” His breath stutters, muscles winding tight as he fucks into his own hand now. Fast and hard. His imagination runs wild—your taste on his tongue, your fingers tugging his hair, the way you’d roll your hips to use his mouth like you need it. He lets himself drown in the fantasy, slutty moans spilling from his mouth so loud he doesn’t hear the knocking. Or the door to his dorm room creaking open. Or the soft sound of feet shuffling on the floor.

You do knock. And you do call out, until you mistake a noise coming from his bedroom for one of pain. You rush in, clutching a shirt he mistakenly gave you with your batch of white laundry to your chest. And then you freeze by the door, when you hear the sound of your own name stumbling from Viktor’s lips in the filthiest, most sultry tone you’ve ever heard from him. Oh—the door is ajar.

Not that you haven’t imagined him doing it. Many times, possibly too many to count. But to imagine it and to hear it—raw and real, seeping into your ears so sweetly—is a completely different thing.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut before holding your breath and stepping in carefully. Viktor is writhing on the bed, unaware, unseeing, his trousers slipped down his thighs, and his face covered with—oh. One hand pushes the fabric into his nose and mouth, and the mere sight has your thighs clenching under your skirt as you step closer, transfixed.

Heat floods your cheeks when your gaze drops to his other hand, to his cock—hard and flushed at the tip, sliding in and out of his grip as his hips thrust helplessly. He looks so absolutely, utterly hot like this, you almost want to let him finish—just to see the vulgar act of him cumming all over his stomach. Until, again—oh. You notice it—the panties are yours.

"Viktor," you whisper, bewildered.

He freezes. "Fuck!" The curse rips from him, loud and raw as he throws the underwear away from him like it burned, rolling onto his stomach with light speed. "Fuck." Again, muffled against the mattress. Then your name, a plea. "I'm so... so sorry."

You step closer, gaze flicking to where the discarded fabric landed. Slowly, you bend down and pick it up between two fingers, holding it up as you muse, "I thought I was missing a pair."

Viktor drops his forehead to the mattress and groans, frustration and shame bleeding into the sound. "I can't believe this is happening, I—"

"For how long have you had them?" you ask. There’s no accusation, only curiosity.

He says nothing. You bite your lower lip, eyes drawn helplessly to the curve of his bare ass, the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body seems locked in mortification.

"Viktor," you try again, softer this time. "Look at me. Turn over."

"I beg you, spare me," he rasps. "I promise I will apologize properly, but please, please, leave."

But you don’t. You see it now—clearly, undeniably. Viktor has been pining for you as much as you’ve pined for him. And so you dare, your mind stunted with the sight conjuring ideas beyond the realm of reason, as you crawl onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight and you settle beside him, sitting on the balls of your feet. Viktor presses his face harder into the sheets, as if willing either himself or you to disappear. "Please," he mutters, your name a breathless sigh, "this is mortifying."

You reach out, running a hand up his leg, fingertips tracing along the muscle, up to the swell of his ass in a gentle caress. Where you touch goosebumps prickle on his skin and you really, really have to resist the urge to bite on his pale cheek. "Viktor," you murmur, voice coaxing, "please look at me. I beg you."

He sighs into the bed, then slowly turns his head to face you, though he avoids your eyes. His face flushed all the way up to his cheeks, shame bleeding into skin. Swallowing hard, he says, “I am so sorry. I wasn’t… This is not—”

"Hey," you say softly, brushing the hair off his forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the touch. You shift closer, lying on your belly beside him, and blow gently on his face. A breathy chuckle forces its way out of him, and finally—finally—he opens his eyes.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi yourself," Viktor murmurs, calmer now.

"I, uh—" you start, then bite your lip. "Can I… see you?" The words come out shyly, your breath held as you wait for his reaction.

"W-what?" Viktor turns, startled—only his torso, though. His hips remain stubbornly pressed to the mattress, much to your disappointment. His brows knit together as he waits for an explanation.

But you have no idea what to say, so you let your body speak for you. You exhale, closing the last bit of distance between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper, "you looked so… hot."

Your cheeks scald as you wait for his reaction, but disappointment and fear flee the moment Viktor's tongue swipes over his lips and—oh—he rolls over, revealing his pretty cock to you. It had been trapped in the crease of his thigh, held there by the dampness of his skin, still achingly hard.

You reach for him slowly, and he moans—his brows knitting—before you even touch him. Your fingers, palm facing down, trace over his balls before gliding up, the heel of your hand pressing along his length, your thumb circling beneath the head.

“Your cock is so pretty,” you whisper a quiet praise, and he shudders, pressing his nose into your cheek, his lips brushing yours, mouths hanging open. As your hand moves in tender strokes, Viktor can’t help himself, it’s invitation enough. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he presses his tongue between your lips, kissing you sloppily, desperately. "Oh God, yes," he mutters into your mouth.

The sound alone makes you moan, spurring you to move with more intent. In no time, you have him so worked up that the neglected dampness between your legs almost doesn’t bother you—but then Viktor’s tongue grows more insistent, his hands roam your body, and your hips buck involuntarily. He clocks it immediately, rasping into your mouth, “Sit on my face. Please.”

You choke on a sound between a gasp and a moan, barely having time to process his words before Viktor’s hands find your hips, guiding you forward. He shifts beneath you, pressing his back flat against the mattress, and tugs at you again, insistent and needy. His breath is hot against your skin as he urges, “Come here, please.”

Your legs tremble as you move, suddenly all shy and hesitant. You come to straddle his chest first, but oh, Viktor’s shame has melted into impatience once encouraged—his hands slide up, gripping your thighs to pull you the rest of the way until you hover above his face. His parted lips are so close that you can feel the ghost of his breath and it’s so unbearably warm you barely resist the urge to sink into him.

What’s in front of you, is his cock, still flushed and leaking, laying thick on his navel. Swallowing your nerves, you lean forward, bracing your hands on his sharp hips as you lower your mouth to him, wrapping your fingers around the base. Viktor groans beneath you, the vibration rippling against your skin and you can feel yourself leaking obscenely when he whines out his famous last words—“Fuck, you are so wet,” and his hot mouth meets your sex.

It's a sinful swipe, that first one. Has you gasping and gripping his cock tighter, before you remember what is it that you are holding. Your eyes widen, mouth huffing warm air over his length as you try to regain your bearings. But Viktor is relentless, thorough, as if he’s intent on devouring the very essence of you, memorising every crevice. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you down, grinding you against his mouth, burying himself in you.

It’s a thousand times better than a mouthful of your underwear—no comparison, really. Not that Viktor can think straight enough to measure the difference, not when his tongue finds its rhythm, plunging in and out of your hole. His head wrenches back into the mattress, chin teasing your clit, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. And then—he groans, a loud, wrecked sound, because your mouth has just wrapped itself around his cock.

Your lips part around the head, tongue flicking over the slit as your hand works the base, thumb pressing along the thick vein running underneath. He twitches so beautifully under your touch that you pause, pulling off with a quiet pop. Watching him glisten in your palm, this time it’s you who can’t help yourself—you glue your torso to his stomach, bury your face against his cock, and inhale long and deep through your mouth and nose.

Viktor shudders beneath you, a deep, broken groan muffled against your cunt. As if this were a conversation, you moan back, the vibration sending a shudder rolling through his muscles. Emboldened, he buries himself deeper, rubbing his chin against your sweet spot, fucking you with his tongue until your hips begin to move on their own, grinding down onto his face. And you—oh, you take him back into the warmth of your mouth, sinking down past the barrier of your throat. Drool spills down his length, slicking the ridges with every bob of your head.

What was merely an ember when you walked in on him now burns bright and hot in his loins. He snorts up whatever air you grant him between your movements, bracing himself for the blinding twist in his stomach that he knows is imminent. His muscles flex under your hands, and for a moment, he loses rhythm, parts his lips from you—and then he cums with a throat-wrenching moan, hard and heavy, spilling thick white into your mouth. You lick it all up, gulp on it, letting him make as many sounds as he likes, lifting your hips just enough so that your clit stays pressed against his chin.

When his cock begins to border on overstimulated, his hand finds your hair, and he tugs you gently, guiding you back to where you were—pressing you down onto his tongue. And you are so, so close. You straighten, brace yourself on his chest, and rut against him without restraint, dragging yourself over the flat of his tongue.

Viktor groans into you, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you where he wants you, letting you use him, consume him. Heat gathers and pools over in waves, tipping you beyond that edge—your body seizing as a raw, broken moan tears from your throat. With the sight of his pretty softening cock in front of you, his name spills from your lips, over and over, as you tremble and grind against his mouth. He holds you through it, drinking in every last shudder and cry until you finally collapse against him, spent and trembling.

Your ass slides off his face, splayed in front of his very eyes and Viktor suddenly realises something—all this time you’ve had no knickers on. “Why are you not wearing any underwear?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Hmm, I thought I miscalculated, but turns out you took my last pair,” you smirk against his hip where your cheek is cradled. You place a soft kiss there to the peak of his bone and whisper, “You can keep it.”

[roanofarcc]

PRACTICE LESSONS (LOTTIE’S VERSION)

pairing: lottie matthews x fem!reader ~ requested

summary:  it's okay to kiss your best friends if 1) it's strictly for practice and 2) if no real feelings are involved. easier said than done. 

warnings:  believed unrequited feelings, the name brandon (derogatory - sorry to any brandons out there) kissing, suggestive towards the end but nothing explicit!

word count. 1.8k || masterlist

Brandon Mills was a preppy asshole who grew up across the street from the Matthews. He was the kind of boy who had never been told no. His daddy fed him money on a silver spoon, his family’s hefty donations to the school placed him as a bigshot on the baseball team, his devilishly handsome good looks caused every girl to swoon when he passed by them in the hall, and his stupid charm let him off the hook at every turn. 

Despite the Matthew’s carefulness not to let anyone get too close to their family in fear they’d discover their daughter was far from perfect, the Mills were the closest. That meant Brandon always had Lottie on his radar, stalking her like some kind of brown-eyed prey until she was ‘cool’ enough to be with him. Clinching the state title put the Yellowjackets’ soccer team on everyone’s radar, but Brandon was more than ready to swoop in and pick Lottie up like some kind of white knight. 

You wanted him dead. 

Not really. That was a bit extreme, but you often imagined him tripping during baseball practice, breaking his ankle, and getting benched alongside his ego. 

“Hello? Are you even listening?” Lottie’s voice cut through your twisted fantasy, forcing you to refocus as she stood in front of you with two dresses in her hands. 

“Sorry,” you said, leaning back on your elbows on her plush bed. Lottie’s room was spacious and decorated with little objects that screamed ‘Lottie’ while the rest was picked out by her mother. Her bed was always made and smelled like lavender. “What are my options, again?” 

Lottie shook the two dresses and eyed them along with you. “The pink is more ‘me’ but Brandon complimented my blue sweater the other day, which makes me think he likes the color blue.” 

You held back a scoff. Brandon would have complimented Lottie no matter what color she wore; that hardly mattered when Lottie was the one behind the clothes. It would be absurd not to think she looked good in anything she tried on. Yet, you knew that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. 

“The pink one,” you replied. 

She smiled and turned back to her walk-in closet to change and finish getting ready. You collapsed back on her bed with a quiet huff, your brain assaulting you with images of Brandon holding her hand while they walked, sharing candy at the movies, and kissing each other goodbye when the night concluded, while you sat alone in your bedroom, trying not to feel so bitter about it. 

With your luck, they’d graduate from high school and get married, and you’d have to be the maid of honor standing opposite Brandon and his groomsmen, all in pressed suits with stupid smirks on their faces. What could you say, though? No, Lottie, don’t go out with the proclaimed ‘hottest’ boy in our grade because I don’t want you to. Yeah, that would be totally logical. 

“Can you help me with my hair?” Lottie asked, returning to you in her pink dress. She looked as beautiful as she always did, even without effort. “It’s doing that weird thing again.” She sat down beside you and handed you a comb and some hairpins. You kneeled behind her, running the comb carefully through her hair as you twisted it into the updo she always asked you to do for game days at school, when they got to show off their uniforms and be showered in praise from students and staff who were ecstatic about finally having a team worth cheering for. 

Once you were done, your fingers lingered on her shoulder, wishing you had some excuse to make her ditch her date and stay with you. 

“Oh man,” she sighed, and you dropped your hand, scooting back beside her. “I’m starting to get nervous.” 

“He’s the one who should be nervous,” you countered. 

Lottie shook her head, a light laugh falling from her glossy lips. “Please, this is Brandon we’re talking about. He’s, like, as cliche as high school boys get. I don’t even know why he suddenly asked me out of all people.” 

You eyed her, confused. “Because you’re Lottie Matthews.” 

A shy smile graced Lottie’s face in the glow of her bedroom lights. “You have to say that,” she said. “Because you’re my friend.” 

“It’s true, though. He’s the one who should consider himself lucky. Not the other way around.” 

There was a growing nervousness on Lottie’s face, and she channeled it into her hands, twisting them around in her lap. “He’s gone a million dates,” she said quietly. “I haven’t. I haven’t even…” Lottie trailed off, closing her eyes for a brief moment. 

You reached out, giving her anxious hands a squeeze. “You haven’t what?” you asked quietly. 

She peeled her eyes back open to look at you. “It’s embarrassing,” she groaned. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet. What if I’m really bad and he tells everyone at school on Monday? I don’t wanna be some pariah who no one wants to date because they think I’m a prude or a bad kisser or something.” 

You knew that Lottie hadn’t had her first kiss yet; she was your best friend after all, and those were the kinds of things you shared. She was the first person you told when you had yours; a knocking of teeth after the middle school dance with some kid you were set with. It wasn’t anything magical, just a milestone you got over with. 

“If he spreads that stupid rumor, I’ll totally kick his ass,” you said. “But I doubt you’ll be bad, it’s not hard.” 

Lottie rolled her lips into her mouth, her face scrunching up slightly as she thought about something. Then, when an idea struck her, her brown eyes widened with a suddenness that caught you off guard. She turned her body towards yours and grabbed your thighs as if she needed to get your undivided attention, as if it wasn’t always on her. 

“Could you help me?” she asked. 

Her fingers curled around the fabric of your jeans, making your brain fuzzy and swimming in confusion. “Help you with what?” 

“Kissing! You know what you’re doing. Maybe you could, you know, make sure I’m not a total loser when it comes to it.” 

Surprise flooded your body, turning your blood hot. Your face felt on fire by the mere idea of kissing Lottie. “W-What?” 

She scooted impossibly close to you, lips pulled in a pout, and pretty eyes pooled with a mix of pleading and desperation. “Please,” she said, dragging out the word. “That way, my first kiss is technically out of the way, and I’ll know what I’m doing, at least somewhat.” 

You weren’t sure if you were dreaming or having a nightmare. This was Lottie, your best friend, asking to kiss you. And your first thought was how much you wanted to. It surprised you, how much you wanted to, actually, you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from automatically agreeing. There was a sourness in your gut that mixed with eagerness. Lottie didn’t really want to kiss you; she wanted to practice for Brandon. She wanted to get her first kiss out of the way to shake the nerves; it had nothing to do with you. 

You were also surprised by how much that sucked. Yet, gazing at Lottie so close to you, you knew it’d be impossible to say no. You could almost never say no to her, not when she really wanted something. 

You swallowed the bitterness and excitement, burying it out of reach for the moment, something you’d deal with later. “O-Okay,” you agreed. 

Lottie’s face lit up, as bright as the moon. “Okay!” she repeated, letting go of your thighs and unsure where she should place them. You gently grasped her wrists and placed her hands on your shoulders before you grasped her waist. Sitting on the bed, your legs were pressed against each other, and your skin on fire under where she held.

“Just, um, relax,” you instructed, your voice just above a whisper. Lottie nodded, watching you so intently. You tilted your head slightly, and she mimicked your movement, leaning in even closer but painfully slow. Your heart was beating so violently in your chest, you feared she’d be able to hear it, and you’d give yourself away. 

The moment your lips connected, her arms around your neck instinctively pulled you closer, and your fingers squeezed her hips. Lottie’s lips were soft and sticky from her lip gloss. They tasted like cherries and a dream come true. With your eyes closed and head spinning, you let yourself pretend like the kiss wasn’t simply practice. Maybe it was selfish to pretend it was more, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was Lottie, pretty and wondrous Lottie in her little pink dress with her legs pressed against yours and lips on yours. 

Maybe you should have pulled away and called it a night, let her run off with Brandon, and resort to daydreaming of that moment for the rest of your life while she fell for someone else. But you couldn’t get yourself to and Lottie wasn’t pulling away yet either. So, you deepened the kiss and her lips parted in surprise. Instead of unwinding her arms from around your neck, she pulled you closer, your noses bumping together, but that didn’t deter either of you. 

Your tongue swiped against her lower lip, tasting cherries and bliss. Your lungs started to burn as you kissed Lottie feverishly, forcing you to finally pull away for air. 

She let out a shuddered breath, not taking her eyes off of you. 

The dream was broken as you realized that was it. One practice kiss and she’d soon be leaving. A weight pressed down on your chest as you let go of her hips and ducked your head sheepishly before clearing your throat. 

“I think you’ll be just fine,” you whispered. 

Lottie said nothing, her face unreadable and her lip gloss smeared slightly. Then, she smiled, a breathy laugh falling from her lips. She lurched forward so suddenly you didn’t have time to react before her lips were on yours again. It was your turn to gasp in surprise, and Lottie wasted no time copying your actions from before, exploring your mouth with her tongue like she had made out a million times before. 

If Lottie was anything, it was a quick learner. 

She gripped your shoulders and pushed you back against the bed, slotting her legs between yours. You let your hands roam up from her waist, sliding up her ribs. Lottie kissed you hard, with a kind of hunger. It made your head spin as a small moan fell from your lips. 

“Lot,” you breathed out, and she pulled away, hovering above you. “What about Brandon?” 

With lips swollen and face flushed, Lottie laughed. “Screw Brandon.” 

You laughed too before you pulled her down for another kiss, the date long forgotten that evening.

[grenadehearts]

thinking abt soft!toji..

Toji Fushiguro is a scary, mean, mean man.

He’s all teeth, all bite, and he bares them at any innocent passerby without a second thought. His hands weren’t made to hold—they were taught to destroy. He was forged from gunmetal and a wolf’s hunger, his bite laced with stinging venom.

But even the roughest exteriors hide something secret, something tender. Every cage has a heart, and every lock has a key—and you, somehow, are Toji’s key.

He comes home with blood on his calloused knuckles, eyes still burning from the fight, but he washes it off carefully, like he’s trying to pretend he’s a clean man. Then he crawls into bed with you, tracing slow, lazy circles on your bare back after pressing kisses from your ankles to the tips of your ears, leaving a hungry fire erupting in your lower belly.

Before every mission, he stands at the door, letting you smear gloss all over his grumpy face with a dozen goodbye kisses. He grumbles, complains, rolls his eyes—but he loves it. Loves the sticky shimmer that never fully fades from his scarred cheek, a mark that reminds him his woman is waiting for him at home.

When you’re out walking, tugging at his arm like an overexcited child, chattering about all the places you want to see that day, your shoelace comes untied. You trip. Reflexively, he catches you—effortlessly. It’s automatic for him.

You’re a klutz, and he finds it so adorable. You get so absorbed and full of excitement about the things you love that you forget your surroundings. So keeping an eye out—and a hand ready—is second nature to Toji now. Just like bending down with a grumble of, “Watch where you’re going,” or, “Lazy ass, tie your own damn shoes.”

Which is funny, because you hadn’t even asked him to tie them. Well, you were about to—but he was faster. You try to insist, yet like always, he cuts you off, already finished. It’s like that with everything.

He runs your bath water before you think to ask. Brushes your hair. Zips up the back of your dress without a word. “It’s just easier doll,” he says, but you suspect otherwise.

Like when you’re craving something sweet—always. Toji hates junk food. Will soapbox for hours about how awful it is for your health. But he still answers your call, listens to your sugar-fueled ramblings, and walks those familiar candy aisles, filling a basket with your favorite sweets.

Or when your nail appointment gets canceled last minute—on date night, no less—which means you can’t wear your new strappy heels.

So he scoops you up bridal style, the straps of your heels clenched between his sharp teeth that are, somehow, so gentle against your skin. He sets you on the couch, rummages through your cosmetics bag, and finds your favorite wine-red nail polish.

He sits with your foot in his lap, kneading the arch with those quick hands as he paints your toes with furrowed brows and a string of muttered curses.

No matter how tired or bloody he is, no matter how brutal the day was, he always makes time. He pulls you into his lap and rubs your tense shoulders, works at the knot in your neck you get from hunching over your sketchbook or your laptop for too long.

Those same hands—designed to take life—become something that gives you life. Full of comfort, they press slow circles into your aching muscles, melting you down, easing the ache from flesh he was never meant to touch this softly.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - vii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to “lovers.” suicidal resolve. major character death. violent drowning. a reckoning. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

When you’re sure that Johnny’s friends have left, you return to the beach. The wind has died down in the late afternoon; the clouds sit heavy and motionless in the sky.

Night is coming, and it promises to be cold. It hangs in the wary stillness of the air, in the waiting quiet. The seabirds’ calling is absent; the dune crickets’ singing has ended.

He’s there on the sand. Somehow, you knew he would be. Felt it, even before he came into view. He stands by the kayak, almost as if he’s been waiting there for you.

You hold the folded pelt with both hands against your stomach as you approach. The fur is so soft against your palms, your fingers. Cool from having spent a night in the ground.

He looks at it with sharp eyes. Then, up to you, expectantly.

His eyes on you in the cottage bedroom, moonlight shifting in them. Teeth in your neck. The taste of brine in your mouth.

Pearls in your memory. Parting gifts to enjoy, as you come to the close.

“Missed you at the end there, bonnie,” he says, even and purposefully steady. “The boys were glad to meet you.”

He’s known—the whole time. He always has. You don’t know how you know this, but you do.

“I’ve had a nice time with you, Johnny,” you say, when you’re only a few paces away from him. “But I think it’s time for me to go.”

Three days. That’s all it’s been. Nothing much, objectively, to say goodbye to. A good way to end things, truthfully, with the aftertaste of good food still on your tongue, the heat and girth of him still lingering inside you. The etchings of his calluses still fresh on your skin.

A kind ending. A gentle one. Better than you and he deserve.

You hold out the pelt.

He looks at it. Mouth a tight line. Brows low and flat. Then his gaze moves to you.

“Where will you go?” he asks, still steady.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “Maybe—Amsterdam. Does it matter? I don’t know.”

“Just like that,” he says flatly. “After everything.”

You frown. “I was always going to leave, Johnny. Remember? I only booked the place for a month. This is just…earlier.”

Something frenetic buzzes in his posture. The slight lean forward in the way he stands. The angles of his face seem harsher, more pronounced. Eyes dark as wet stone.

“Johnny, just—” you shake the pelt at him, still holding it out. “Just take it, okay?”

He looks at the pelt again, and then back at you.

At it, then you.

It—you—

Johnny lunges.

In one swift surge forward he snaps the pelt from your hands and flings it aside. As it flutters to the ground his hands whip at you, seizing fistfuls of your shirt a half-thought before you realize it, wrenching you forward.

“What the fuck?!” you cry, but then you’re off your feet, falling toward him, arms flailing as you lose your center of balance. You topple into him, and he hooks you beneath the shoulders with the iron bands of his arms, stepping away from the kayak, and only for a moment do you think that maybe he’s going to bring you back to the cottage before he starts dragging you in the opposite direction—

“Johnny, no,” you breathe, as you hear a wave break on the sand,“Johnny, no!”

You start to kick and thrash. You throw yourself against his grasp, dig your heels into the sand, try to find the meat of his forearm with your teeth, but he is resolute. Unstoppable.

You start to scream.

The waves eddy around your feet, rise up to engulf your ankles, your calves, as Johnny roils the water with wide, unfaltering steps, deeper in—

The water closes around your thighs. Your waist.

This is happening. This is really happening—

“Had a month to get to this, bonnie,” says Johnny, over your screaming, rough and harsh and completely unrecognizable. He slings you around to face him, jaw set hard, the muscles in his temples flexing as he clenches his teeth. “But I guess we’re doin’ it now.”

“Johnny,” you plead, “please don’t, Johnny, please—Johnny, no, no, no, no—!”

He clamps his hands on your shoulders and shoves you downward. You claw at him, push against the seabed, but your lover is too strong, immune to your fighting, and you are barely able to inhale before he forces your head below the water.

Frigid cold—it rushes into your ears, through your hair, knife-sharp and paralyzing. Salt flooding the open canals of your nose—

You close your throat. The surface swirls above you, distorting him, rippling and folding in on itself as a wave recedes. Hope waits for the retreating water to expose you, but he has dragged you out too deep, far enough that even the lowest point of the backwash still submerges you.

Seawater, eroding cilia, ramming against the rolled stone of your epiglottis. Burning the film of your corneas.

You reach up, swinging your hands at his face, but the distance of his straightened arms, muscles flexing to hold you down, is too great; you beat at empty air, or collide with the rock-hardness of his shoulders.

Another wave comes in, deepening the surf around you. You kick out, knee upward, wrench against him—you just need him to loosen his grip once, for just one moment, and then you can get away. You try to pry his fingers up, but they may as well have rooted in you.

Lungs pulsing. Throat already fighting to open. Chest heaving, diaphragm beating upward to pull in air. Pain lancing up your chest, unimaginably sharp, head so heavy it might burst—

You throw yourself to one side, kicking against the sand, and physiology subsumes your control. The cost of fighting is breathing. The floodways open—the ocean rushes into your throat—

Salt abrades the walls of your esophagus, claw-slashing downward. Acid bypasses the filters of your alveoli, honeycomb structures collapsing to the pressure, to the spasming of your lungs desperate to send oxygen to the rest of your body. Your diaphragm contracts—your chest convulses to cough, to force water out, only to welcome more of the sea in.

You beat at Johnny’s arms again. All you manage is to throw water against him. He is a sea stack above you. A pillar. Unmovable.

Holding your body against his in the bedroom, frighteningly strong, moving against you like the ocean itself—

The water churns above you with your struggle. You cannot see his face. All you see is the unstable shape of his silhouette, wavering lines distorting the edges as the corners of your vision darken.

More seawater, expanding your chest. Heart stuttering between your lungs, yanking in the last of your oxygenated blood, with nothing to send back out. The weight of your body swells, arms too heavy to hold up. They crash into the water before you force them back up again, searching and unwieldy.

Perception narrows. Him, and you. That’s all.

Sunlight through the window the next morning, rimming him in gold. The heat of his shoulder pressed to yours.

The seawater steals the tears from your eyes, throat convulsing on a sob you cannot make.

Grinning as you shared oysters.

You slap your hands against his arms, clapping your palms to whatever they can find, begging, praying—

Him moving inside you, his warmth, his smell, the weight of his tongue in your mouth. The tug of his hand on your arm.

His smile, his voice, his hand in yours—

Fists like weights holding you down. Fire in your chest. Too full.

Upward—something in you tugging upward.

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live—

It’s done.

Johnny lifts your body from the surf and carries it back to the beach. You fit in his arms as if they were the mold you were cast from.

He knew you would the moment he saw you in the airport. Perfect. You were perfect for him. He saw it in the angles of your body, the way you stood, the emotions moving behind the mask of your face.

He tried to explain it to Price once—the seeing. The knowing.

How he could look straight at his old captain, for instance, and know, without ever hearing the man say a word, that he felt responsible. For everything. For the gunshot. For the months afterword. Even though he hadn’t chosen to discharge Johnny himself, Price saw the mold of his hands in the shape his sergeant’s life had taken.

It’s how he knows Gaz couldn’t see the change in him, because he saw what he wanted to see—his best mate whole and healthy, thriving in a new stage of his life.

It’s how he knows Ghost doesn’t even recognize him anymore. Not really.

And it’s how he knows you’re just like him.

He lays you down on the sand, cradling the back of your head so it settles lightly down. Stretches your legs to rest straight out. He aligns your limp arms with the length of your torso, turning your hands upward so the sand will not cling to your palms.

Beautiful. Even with your face slack. Eyes half-open, unseeing. Mouth parted; seawater dripping from the corners.

Your feet touched the island the same way his did, years ago. Running away. Looking for the end, without really trying to find it. It was in the set of your brows, the tight pull of your mouth against your teeth.

Life had gone in every direction opposite of your intention. And it had left you alone.

Johnny smooths a few stray hairs away from your forehead, and kisses the place between your brows. The little line that has sat between them this whole time is gone, smoothed away. He kisses the bridge of your nose, and then your mouth, and then stands.

It took him a while, back then, to make the decision. It was hours before he woke to find Price watching him, sitting despondent on the sand, tears tracking salty down the older man’s face.

He goes to the place he threw his pelt away and retrieves it, shaking it out. Holding it in his hands assuages the anxiety that has wriggled in the back of his mind since the day he shoved it into the lintel of the croft. He’d known where it was, but survival instinct prevails over logic—for the rest of his life, he will always fear its loss.

It’s a consequence, but not one he’d been unfamiliar with.

And, in the end, preferable to the alternative.

He lowers himself to the sand a little ways away from you, propping his knees up and spreading the pelt across them.

When he had done this—he’d done it alone. It had been close. He almost hadn’t made it.

If he takes up this vigil—if he stays, the whole time, watching you—you’ll make it. It’s not a matter of hope or belief. It’s a matter of knowing.

He knows every time he looks into your eyes. Every time he’s been inside you. Every time your body has risen to meet his touch.

You want to live.

So he sits back. He keeps his eyes on you.

And he waits.

The sky claps you between its palms and hurls you back down the gravity well—

You vomit up the ocean.

Panting, with burning lungs. Closer—everything is much, much closer, loud and bright, and suddenly, individually distinct.

Channels of sound and aroma dance on the wind—sea salt, the smoke of someone’s grill from the village, burning meat, the rolling crash of the incoming tide, birdcall and the gust of beating wings and—and—

And you can sense them all.

A gap in the clouds lets the sunlight touch the earth.

You move on the sand. Turn onto your belly, chest heaving, empty and light. The cove—you’re still in the cove. There’s the path back up to the cottage. There’s the kayak. There’s—

Johnny, riotous, waiting in the crashing waves.

He calls to you: loud, long, triumphant, teeth bared in jubilation.

You cry out. Wordless. If you’d had any words to say, your lips could not shape them.

You’re alive.

It crashes into you. Alive.

You lift your head into the wind coming off the ocean. It caresses your face softly, tenderly, like a mother’s kiss on your cheek.

Johnny suddenly turns from you and darts into the water.

You wail with surprise. A wave rushes up to where you lay, water licking up the fibers of your body. You’re not ready. It’s too soon. Why did he leave you? What’s happening? Why isn’t the water cold?

You clutch at the sand. You can’t find your legs—you can’t stand up. All you can do is crawl, shuffle your ungainly body forward with the clumsiness of a newborn child. You cry out again, trying to convince him to return, to come help you, but if he hears it, he does not come to your aid.

Another wave surges forward; salt water crashes across your face. You flinch away from it, but something nictates over your eyes, shielding them from the burn.

Once you reach the surf, the water cradles your body, buoyancy easing your way. You submerge, finding something to kick with—

And then you’re gliding.

Murky, and blue. Sand clouding in the tide. But comfortable—cool, without being cold. You remember frigidity cutting into your skin only hours earlier, rending you at the seams, unmaking you.

Now, it receives you like an old friend.

Ahead of you, Johnny moves further out. You can feel him, far out in the distance, tiny eddies of water rippling against your cheeks.

He’s not the only thing you can feel. The radius of your awareness vibrates with blips of movement, darting, swaying, dancing, below and above and all around. It shocks you to realize, and you go still, hovering in place, momentarily stunned by how much there is living around you.

Johnny pauses too, ahead of you. Waiting. A lone distinct figure, patient for you to follow.

You shiver with startled wonder, and resume your way toward him.

The coastal shelf slopes downward, falling away. The water gradually clears as overhead, past the surface, the sun sinks in the sky. Warm golden light dyes the sea around you. He leads you on, further and further, until a forest of kelp grows up around you.

In the turquoise, ribbons of twisting green undulate and twirl, feathery and dancing in the windy current. Silvery bubbles trail toward the sunlight, intermingling with tiny schools of glimmering fish that dart and jump between the fronds. Down below you, red and green algae fur valleys of rock, swaying lazily like prairie grass.

It’s beautiful.

Johnny drifts to a stop in the middle of it all, wheeling around to face you. You approach him, coming in close—and it’s almost like approaching the sun, so much that he radiates across your senses.

His dark eyes hold yours the same way they had that day on the beach, and the pendulum swings balanced now between you.

He brushes the side of his face along yours, and with his touch he leads you downward, following the stipes of kelp toward the stone to which their holdfasts grip. The heat of his huge body warms the water that flows in the narrow spaces between your bodies, even as the coolness intensifies the further you dive.

The two of you draw up along the forest floor—and find the myriad little denizens of the sea. You’d known they were there, at the very edge of your senses, and now they bloom into fullness in your attention.

Shrimp perambulate beneath rocky ledges. Crabs walks along the ridge of a huge boulder, like climbing a mountain. And there, further down, snails in their spiral shells, pulling themselves across the sandy grain. Starfish, in shades of red and blue and orange. Anemones, translucent hair streaming.

Tiny lives—insignificant to you, before. Hardly worth your notice. Now, you marvel at them, reeling. You want to cup them all in your palms and bring them up to clutch against your chest.

Something brushes against you.

You look up—Johnny, sliding along your side, curving back in toward you, then looping underneath. He nudges at you, then darts away; you gaze at him, confused, so he comes back in, shunting you with his body, and once again retreats.

Behind him, you catch a turtle fluttering in between the green leaves. Atlantic salmon chasing capelin. An eel peeking out from its cave. Undisturbed by Johnny’s—and your—antics.

He nudges you again, then backs off, looking at you expectantly. Realizing his intentions, you follow—he makes a low clicking sound in his throat, pleased, and jets into the flowing leaves, buffeting you with the wave he leaves in his wake.

You’re shocked only for a moment before the kelp parts for you in your pursuit. Johnny quickly disappears ahead of you, dipping down below the canopy. You feel him rapidly shrink in your awareness, and you propel forward, scanning for telltale splashes of gray and white, arms of green caressing you as you pass.

You close in on him, but suddenly he evades. You follow again, only to find he’s nowhere in view. Then the chase is on: he stays in one place only long enough for you to catch sight of him before he bolts, or wheels around and backtracks to confuse you every time you approach. Teasing, taunting, flaunting the dexterity he has underwater which you have yet to acquire.

Golden shafts of dancing sunlight begin to dim and shorten as he leads you on. Frustration rapidly builds in your chest, buoyed as your lungs press against your ribcage. You need to breathe, even as Johnny becomes no more than a dot of movement in your senses, confounding you at every turn.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he stay with you? If you surface, you’ll lose him, but the sudden memory of saltwater flooding your chest has you kicking toward the fading daylight. Self-preservation taking its place at the head of your priorities, and you follow it with no longer any second thought.

Above you shifts a mirror of silk.

You rise. Faster as the weight of the sea lessens, your reflection blooming as you approach, closer and closer to the wedge-shaped face, the large, dark eyes—

You swim into yourself and breach the air. Your nostrils open, and you inhale the wind.

You see the twilight bleeding into the day. Clouds moving quickly off as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Where is Johnny?

You can’t sense him anymore—as you knew would happen—and your chest contracts with fear and longing, suddenly believing you’ve seen him for the last time—that he’s left you all alone, to figure out what to do next, with no idea how to live in the skin of this new self you’ve become.

You give a mournful howl. You don’t want to do this alone, you can’t, you thought you wouldn’t have to—

But in the distance, back the long way you came, you hear an answer.

You whirl around, facing the shore, and almost too far away to see, a dark shape rests on the sand.

Your throat convulses with a clumsy breath, and then you dive. The water parts for your body, sliding around you, streaming through your hair. Faster than you expect, the slope of the shelf draws close, and you jet upward, belly meeting the sand, and when the water recedes and you drag yourself back onto the beach, your own weight settling heavy on your bones, you cry out again.

You shake the water from your head, wailing at the top of your lungs, desolate and blind as you blink the salt away, and then there’s a warm body up against yours, weight melding against you, heat reaching out to drive away a coldness you hadn’t felt until you’d surfaced.

You continue crying as Johnny closes his teeth around a hank of your neck and drags himself on top of you, pressing you down into the sand. You shift to let him settle over you, and all of his weight compresses your body—sandwiching you between himself and the earth, pinning you down in one place.

Something in you still wants to fight. To shake him off—to escape. But all you can do is cry. He enters you with no resistance, and you cry more, harder, until your lungs deflate, and then you take a deep breath and start wailing again.

Saltwater streaming down your face, dripping into your own mouth. Your voice hits the cliff walls, rebounds off the stone until the air fills with your weeping. Johnny shifts on top of you, pressing your head down to the sand.

The vessel you have contained yourself within overturns. You cry.

You cry for yourself. You cry for him. You cry for what you’ve done, what you haven’t, and for what you can never undo. Your lament fills your own ears and spills out again, all across the beach, catching in the wind to fly off into the ether, raised to the birds, to the passing clouds overhead.

You cry with despair of never going back. You cry with the terror of Johnny finally rolling off of you, to dart back into the waves, to leave you here alone again. You cry until your throat hurts, stinging and raw—

And Johnny’s hands, strong and warm, edge beneath your pelt and pull you out, still bawling with every drop of shame you’ve carried in your body since the day you realized you hated yourself.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, drawing you up into his chest, arms steady and strong around you. “It’s alright now, bonnie, it’s alright. I’m here.”

You cannot respond to him. Your mouth hangs open only to wail your grief. Your body wracks against him, convulsing, involuntary, as you scream with despair and relief and horror and resolve, too much to contain, too overwhelming now to ever split yourself away from.

You find his arms with your shaking hands and grip on tight. He slips the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes every so often to clear away your tears, and you feel his mouth press against your forehead. You wait for him to drop you. Wait for him to see the mess you’re making and wash his hands of it.

He doesn’t. Every time another sob wracks you, he grips you tighter.

Eventually—when you begin to wonder if it ever could, if this is all you are now, a squalling bundle of fragile skin pebbling in the cold—it passes.

The next time you pause to draw breath, you find nothing more inside you to disgorge. You begin to shake in Johnny’s arms, trembling with exhaustion, whimpering with clenched eyes.

He breathes slowly against you. Calm and even. He strokes your face with gentle fingers, even and patient, as if there’s nothing more in the world he’d rather do.

You find the courage to meet his gaze when your heartbeat steadies, finding the rhythm in Johnny’s chest to match. You see again what you saw that first day, that next night; you know now what you’ve always known, somewhere inside you. Your face is familiar in the reflections of it in his eyes.

His mouth curls gently as he gazes down at you. His eyes dance in yours, corners creasing as he traces the curve of your cheek. Light catches in his pupils.

You see him clearly, as the sun gives way to the evening, and the moon rises over a cloudless night of stars.

epilogue

a/n: shoutout to @/gildui for suggesting screenshots for that one section of text. Thank you to @/bi-writes for trying to figure out how i could keep the formatting with tumblr's coding. Please let me know if alt text is necessary. God forbid a text-based website allow for formatting said text.

[lovegasmic]

MY STRANGE ADDICTION

──── . curse!toji fushiguro + sorcerer fem!reader  

 𝜗𝜚 mdni◞ slight dub con just at the beginning ◞ handcuffed sex◞ breeding kink◞ mild pussy slapping ◞ name calling : slut ◞ petnames: princess, angel , good girl. rewritten and reposted . ★ taglist

“I will be alright”

you had grinned at Nanami that one afternoon, his usual calm face held a slightly concerned look, surprisingly still present on even though you were already miles away from where goodbyes were exchanged.

“it's a low rank curse, it should be fine”

but it really wasn’t.

the report mentioned some passersby’s warning over a strange metal clanking sound in a nearby abandoned building, —nothing out of the ordinary really, adding to the faint, almost imperceptible cursed energy found in the surroundings everyone agreed it was some low rank curse doings.

yet an eerie feeling was palpable left and right, coldness digging deep into your bones and making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

much against your initial perception, the curse didn’t attack, and instead, it cornered you into a windowless floor, much obviously the building was still on construction due to it’s bare walls and floors where it hid in the dark, like a predator hunting its prey, and much to your disadvantage, you were the latter.

the rapid and loud thumping of your heart rang in your ears, slightly muffling the startling voice the curse held, although you didn’t expect for it’s first words to be “you’re way too pretty to be a sorcerer”

“huh?!” jaw slack —from what it seemed— he, chuckled at your body’s automatic response, feeling your stomach drop at the deep and manly voice resonating through the walls and hallways.

you swallow hard “what the fuck does that mean?”

the curse laughed again, shifting in his place to take a step, two steps closer to the moonlight light coming from the wall opening and reflecting on the floor, one that barely got to show a portion of his shadow.

“what i’m saying is...” the voice came from your back, startling you enough to steal a gasp before it moved again, “...I would hate for a pretty thing like you to get killed so easily”

“if someone is dying today, that's you” you spoke, fake confidence helping you cope with what could possibly be your imminent death. this curse wasn’t one to mess with, you were certain.

“hm?” he smirks, “why don’t we test that out?” he whispers in your ear, and a second later, you’re on the floor, not giving you time to react to the inhuman speed the curse possessed, will definitely sport a couple of bruises later on from the hit and a makeshift handcuff that held onto your wrist, it’s coldness and weight reminding you of metallic chains.

“let me go” you grit, and much to your disgust, your mouth going dry the moment the curse got into the light didn’t help, hating to admit a slight throb in your pussy —and shoulders, due to the awkward position, laying barely propped up by your elbows.

he was terribly hot, dark tight shirt clinging on his broad chest and disappearing underneath gray joggers that only fueled your dirty thoughts.

“stop squirming, you have nowhere to go right now” his laugh echoes as loud as his shoes click right before your pity form, coming to your height dark pupils, almost fully engulfing the color of his irises and matching messy hair falling on them.

you had to earn time, strike a stupid conversation or anything that could win you some time until anyone came to your rescue after noticing the long absence, but the man smirked down at you in such a mischievous way you couldn’t help and try to push on his chest, screaming internally when the tall wall of muscle didn’t even budge, and instead, wrapped his fingers around your ankle.

“don’t touch me!” you half shout, both at the surprise of his movements, and the slight shiver engulfing your body from the calloused fingertips coming in contact with the bare skin right here your pants raised.

there’s a tsk coming from his lips right before sliding his huge hand across your leg, slowly enough for you to stop him, yet your body remained still, frozen against the cold marble floor.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

he whispers in your ear, leaning close enough into your ear until nothing but a breeze could separate his lips from your skin.

“fuck you” you hiss, empty words not matching the way you pliantly let the man, curse, touch you, both hands resting on your thighs, your waist, snaking a single thumb across the side of your covered breasts that rise and fall with each harsh breathing.

“that’s what I plan on doing”

for the second time in the night, your head fogs at the sudden movement, knees landing roughly on the floor with a pained gasp as you stare into the wall, your back arched in a very, suggestive way towards the man.

“i bet you’re fucking wet” he chuckles, “what a slut, in this situation, really?, do you not get fucked well enough?”

lips part to talk back, anger and embarrassment burning on your face, but the fact was undeniable, now obvious to him since his rough fingertips came in contact with the crotch of your elastic pants, rubbing across your slit through the fabric, rough enough for your growing wetness to seep towards the exterior.

“fuck— naughty girl” he is very much enjoying this, palming his already hard cock through the loose fabric of his own pants. “gonna take care of you, princess, fuck you nice and good til’ that pretty head of yours goes dumb”

it’s involuntary the moan that escapes your lips, suddenly losing balance until your cheek is pressed against the cold floor. a lewd sight of your willing body all pliant for him.

“name’s Toji” he huffs, leaving a single sharp slap on your ass before shredding the cloth down along your drenched panties, enough for his thighs to come between yours and stretch them, leaving your pussy to his lustful gaze, “remember the name you’ll be screaming tonight”

the curse, or now, Toji’s words are remarked with a couple soft slaps on your throbbing clit with the tip of his cock, making your thighs twitch and whimpers escape at the sensation and disgustingly nasty sound of creamy wetness sticking.

he’s big. incredibly big and stretching you so well your breath comes out unsteady and erratic, nails digging against your own palms as to conceal the pleasure you’re currently feeling, something no one has ever made you feel before.

“T-toji...” you whine for the first time, deep down loving how his name felt on your lips.

“that’s right” he grunts, slowly but steadily feeding your cunt the rest of his fat cock, his own breathing coming in stuttered huffs with how tight you felt, “you’re squeezing me so fuckin’ much, you just needed a fat cock to satisfy you, isn’t that right, angel?”

“ha— ngh!” you sob, toes curling in your shoes when his heavy balls kiss your clit, and then he’s fucking you with abandon, holding onto one of your shoulders to pull your upper body up, forcing you to meet his thrusts that almost knock the air out of your lungs.

“good fuckin’ girl” Toji’s laugh resonates through the empty concrete floor, mingling alongside the wet sound your slapping flesh, it’s dark and dangerous, but still makes your cunt flutter, “do you like how I ruin your unprotected human pussy?”

for a second, your eyes cross, brain shuts and opts not to reply, deciding to keep at least a bit of dignity instead of babbling a cockdrunken nonsense that would have seeped out due to Toji’s cock continuously slamming against your sweet spot, forcing waves of slick to drool out of your slit and stain your thighs and floor, mixed with the creamy precum coating your sensitive walls.

“answer me, darling” a rough hand comes to cup your jaw, forcing your head up until his lips ghost over the skin of your cheek, hips rutting into your slit and forcing his length a bit deeper into your abused pussy.

"y-yes!, feels so good" you stutter, eyes rolled back and hair clinging to every corner of your forehead, unaware of the movement of your own hips in an attempt to fuck yourself back on him.

“good girl” Toji leaves a single chaste kiss on your cheek, taking his previous position, although this time he forces your waist to arch deeper, almost mounting you before resuming his thrusts, “gonna show you how I breed pretty girls like you”

you whimper his name in approval, completely gone while letting him use you, positively drooling onto the floor and making a mess like he’s doing with your cunt.

with a choked out sob, you cream all over his length, shaking and crying while clinging to the chains around your wrists, yet he didn’t stop, fucking the white ring of cum back into your drenched pussy.

he’s forcing your ass cheeks open, aiming for your cervix before filling your hole with thick cum that comes out with a grunt and a groan, hips rolling, grinding and forcing you to milk that load out of his tip.

you know for a fact, that after that night, you became utterly ruined for any other man. since no one could ever fuck you like the curse you were supposed to exorcise.

he leaves a sharp slap on your overflowing pussy, loud and wet enough for your mixed fluids to splatter, right on time before hearing footsteps on the first floor of the building, —perhaps your reinforcements that might take a while to reach the high floor you were currently at. and then he’s quick on his feet, untangling your bound hands while chuckling at the yelp and beautiful sight of his cum oozing from your hole.

“if you want another load, you know where to find me”

[daylighted]

─ HIDE AWAY THE SIGNS, dad's best friend ! jackles

you didn't think jensen was leaving and saying goodbye without a proper taste of you, did you?

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. oral (f receiving). dirty talking. manhandling. edging (kind of). thigh biting. minor exhibitionism. he's mean </3. word count. 3.4k

sneak into his room here!

THE FIRST THING YOU HEAR WHEN you wake up is the sound of rustling around on the other side of your bedroom wall. with an odd sense of disappointment, you realize immediately what it is. suitcases zipping, bedsheets rippling as the big duvet is fluffed and spread flat over it. you’d know the sound of someone preparing to leave anywhere — you’d only just done it days ago prior to returning home. 

it feels wrong to get up and say goodbye. to your parents, jensen was a stranger you talked to sometimes, when you passed each other. even in your mind, you only knew him at base level. you don’t know his favorite color, what high school he went to, if he had any pets wherever it was that he was from. 

so you weren’t going to say goodbye. you’d sit on your bed and stew on this realization that it was fun while it lasted, but it wasn’t meant to last. not really. you’d been told to get some spontaneity in your life by him, made to step out of every single comfort zone you had, and now you could say you did. that was the whole point, wasn’t it? he was sent into your life by some god, probably not any that were going to let you through heaven’s gates or anything, and now that he’d served the purpose he came for, he’d leave.

it still felt bittersweet in the most painstaking of ways. you didn’t have to completely close yourself off from him to know that fact.

the sound of things flipping around halts, and the door clicks shut, and footsteps start down the hallway to the staircase, not once pausing in front of yours. 

somehow, it hurt more that he’s just as dismissive as all of this as you were trying to be. you were trying, he didn’t even need to make the efforts to push you out of his head, it seemed.

four days you’d been home and you hadn’t reached out to your friends. you pull your phone out of your pocket to do that, needing some sort of distraction from the fact that you’d let yourself become your dad’s best friend’s temporary plaything while he stayed over. maybe he had a wife back home, not a dog. maybe his favorite color was the color of her eyes. maybe they met in high school.

the thought makes you feel sick, your fingers hovering over the group message with your friends in town.

you nearly jump out of your skin when a knock echoes on the doorframe behind you. there, standing in its open space, is jensen. 

“weren’t downstairs,” he says, eyebrows raising like he was accusing you of something. he’s wearing a baseball cap, the brim shadowing over the greens of his eyes. the strap of his duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, catching on the bunched up fabric of his hoodie. “thought i’d come up here n’ see why.” 

you raise your eyebrows right back at him, just as much accusation in them as his. “well, i’m not your girlfriend or anything, so…” 

“no, you aren’t,” he says easily, crossing his legs at the ankle as he braced his shoulder on the doorframe. “but i thought we were past the point of pretending we weren’t something.” 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

he raises a closed fist, holding up fingers as he counted them off. “friend. good fuck. good fuck who’s a friend. fuckbuddy—”

“your best friend’s daughter,” you interject, hissing it through your teeth at him, eyes darting over his shoulder to make sure both of your parents were downstairs like he’d implied. “you should do better to keep that little tidbit at the front of your arguments.” 

jensen takes a step into your room, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. “if you wanna play mean, pretty girl, by all means, i’m not stoppin’ you. but i’ve already warned you that you won’t like it when i’m mean.” 

“why are you so adamant on me going to tell you goodbye, huh?” you sit up on your bed now, no longer laying on your stomach facing the pillows, but flipped over to properly argue. all of the hurt you felt over the fact that this was ending and it meant nothing by this point was starting to bubble over, out of your control. “you probably have a wife at home! you probably— probably have a job, and kids, and a dog named, like, spot or something—” 

jensen nods along with everything you’re rambling on about, his lips pursed in disamusement. it’s when you stumble on the syllables out of your mouth that the sentences falter, and you’re staring at him with your chest heaving and your lip wobbling against your will. you weren’t supposed to miss him, and especially not now, when he wasn’t already gone. “you done?” 

“no!” you choke on it, spit it out like it burns your tongue. “i bet you’re really happy, too, with your little family. i bet you came here and saw something young, and new, and because you’re jensen ackles you couldn’t help yourself! you never could help yourself, i know this, dad always said so — you’d see one thing you wanted, and you—” 

his duffel clatters to the ground with a heavy thud, the strap scraping along the hardwood as it lands. you can barely process jensen’s footsteps crossing the space to you before he’s hauled you into his arms, all of your protests dying in your mouth. 

he’s taking you down the stairs, your mouth opening and closing before you can even think of telling him no, or to put you down, or to never let go. 

over his shoulder, you see your parents small forms from the screen door of your front entrance. they’re at the mailbox, talking to one of your neighbors, both of their backs to you and the neighbor turned to face them, capable of seeing you at any moment through his peripheral vision if he chose to glance over. 

you duck your head like that alone could save you from that possibility, tucking it behind jensen’s shoulder. “talkin’ to me like i’ve got somethin’ to prove,” he rasps in your ear, scoffing in disbelief, “who do you think you are, tryin’ to make me feel guilty?” 

jensen shoves you onto the countertop, his head hovering over you, looming like a shadow — overtaking you in a single breath. “the news flash, sweetheart, is that i don’t owe you shit.” his fingers close around your thigh, digging into the bare flesh as he pushes it open. “i don’t owe you my wife’s name, my kids’ names, my fuckin’ dog’s name, if i had any of that shit. i don’t owe you what my job is. i don’t owe you what i do in my freetime.” 

he curls his index finger over the crotch of your panties and tugs downwards, his other hand forcing each of your thighs up to wiggle the fabric down your legs. immediately, your eyes dart to the doorway, to the screen door open for anyone to see, to where you’re directly in the sights of any potential straying eyes. 

“and you know what i especially don’t owe you?” jensen asks, sinking his teeth into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the skin before lapping it under his tongue. he sits back a little, just enough so that one hand could come up and flip his baseball cap backwards on his head. “i don’t fucking owe you on why i like you, pretty baby,” he hums, giving you a wolfish grin before diving into the space between your legs, his head beneath your skirt.

you couldn’t hide your sharp gasp, not when it was all so sudden, and not when the scratch of his beard teases and rubs at the highest parts of your inner thighs and the sensitive skin of your folds, his tongue dipping between them to lick a stripe up the wet slit. one of your hands curls around the edge of the countertop, the other clamps over your mouth to keep quiet.

the last thing you wanted was for either of your parents to wonder what you were making noise for, or for your neighbor to catch too much movement through the glass door and peek over, and to see jensen’s head between your legs, or the throes of ecstasy he was beginning to drag you through. 

his hands grip your calves, keeping your legs open for him with a bruising grip on the skin, but his tongue and lips play a different story. they’re slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring the proper taste of you and not just the fleeting flick of his tongue or the wetness around his fingers. the thought alone has you squirming on the marble surface, knowing that he was teasing you on purpose, that he was just as capable of being much worse as he was being much more ravishing. 

his tongue flicks over the bundle of nerves between your folds and your fingers tighten over your mouth, just in time for him to suck it between his two lips. one of jensen’s hands lets go of your calf to grab upwards at your wrist, looking up at you with dark eyes through the span of his eyelashes. 

“uncover it or we’re going to the living room,” he breathes, his voice a delicious vibration against your clit, “and if you keep pushing me, baby, i’ll put you on the porch.” 

you let go of your mouth with haste, looking down at him with wide eyes. “but—” 

“you think i’m scared of them?” he asks, eyebrows bouncing up on his forehead. “why would i be? you think you’re nothing to me, that this is just bullshit, so why should i care who sees what i do to you? why should i care about you at all?” 

jensen’s glistening lips curl up into that sneering grin again, and he pushes your one leg open further, moving it to the back of your knee to hook his fingers around it and drag you closer to the edge of the countertop. he shifts his attention, trailing his tongue downwards to lap at the seeping wetness from your entrance, before pushing through it and into the tight throb of your heat.

it’s all you can do to not make a sound. the only outlet you have is the grip he still has on your wrist, your nails dug hard into the back of his hand. he doesn’t lift his head to see as he lets go of your hand to smack your digging nails away from his skin, the crescent marks evident in the tanned skin. 

instead, he grabs your fingers in a vice grip, holding them in his own tight enough that you can’t pull them free — like he’s almost afraid of the risk that you’ll let go. he’s relentless in his unabashed tongue fucking, breaking away for seconds at a time to suck and lap at your clit before returning. 

your breath leaves you in heaving gasps, your thighs closing tighter around his head, writhing against him. it only seems to encourage jensen further, the arching of your hips into his face making him groan in between your pussy lips.

he takes the time to learn all of your secrets. how you can’t help a gasp when he nuzzles closer, his beard leaving red splotches on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. how your spine arches when his teeth graze the throbbing nub of your clit. how you whimper softly, just for him, when he closes his mouth around your clit and sucks at it until it aches, and soothes it with the lap of his tongue as he collects every bit of your wetness on it and breathes it in. 

“please—” you beg, though you’re not sure for what, not when he’s started to pay special attention to your clit again and every thought in your head becomes a puddle, replaced with a constant buzz that only builds and builds.

he nips at it again and you whine throatily, just as he relents. jensen’s head dips lower to your entrance again, moaning against the new wave of wetness he finds in place of what he’d just swallowed down. “please what?” he rasps, making your toes curl at his sides. “thought i wasn’t happy with you. thought i was real fuckin’ happy to get away from this pussy.” 

“no!” you gasp the word out, no breath left in your lungs to rise above that sweet whisper of a sound. “no, no, no—” 

“yeah, you backtrack real fuckin’ fast when i’m eating your pussy, huh?” his laugh is bitter and cruel, but the kiss he presses to your clit is sweet, and so is the look he gives you through his eyelashes. a thin strip of green around the expanse of his pupils, big and glossy like he might actually like you, but dark enough to remind you that this, like everything, is a fleeting moment in a span of millions of other little moments.

you’re right on the cusp of the feeling you’ve been chasing, and he’s stopped. his cheek is pressed against your thigh, lips wet with the taste of you, the facial hair around his mouth wet and red from the friction. “you want the truth?” 

your heart screams yes. “no.” your head’s answer slips through your teeth.

he nods once, letting go of the back of your knee to smear his finger teasingly along your entrance, brushing the juices upwards and circling the pad of his thumb over your clit. “try again.” 

you shake your head. the tightness is beginning to curl up beneath your navel, each little brush of his thumb starting a slow crescendo. your head knocks back against the cabinet behind you with a soft thud, your legs spreading open wider in an attempt to grind your hips against his touch. 

jensen grabs your inner thigh again and holds it tight in his big hand, keeping you from squirming too much, no longer about to push you over the edge of the impending orgasm. “try. again.” 

you let out a little mewl at the lack of his touch leaving you panting and empty, the pleasure teetering right over the cusp. “stop it,” you manage to whimper out, again trying to wrestle your hand free from his other one. 

his lips twitch. “do you. want. the truth?” 

“no,” you rasp back at him, leaning your head off of the cabinets to be closer to eye level with him. 

silence follows like a heavy blanket. his thumb strokes slowly along the inside of your thigh where he holds it steady, his eyes never once dragging away from your face. “okay.” 

there’s no preemptive warning before jensen lets go of your leg and slides two fingers deep inside of you, just like there’s no preparation as he pumps them, curling them upwards to brush against the gushy spot inside of you that makes you whine again. the sparks of pleasure are so much more intense with how close you were, everything building at a speed you can’t keep up with. 

your fingers go slack in his grip, your head tipping forward that little bit more to press your forehead to his while you try to catch your breath. never once did jensen take his eyes off of you. and again, he doesn’t falter in that eye contact when he pulls his fingers out of you.

each breath is shallow in your lungs, your lips trembling as you fight against the need to scream and whine and hit him, probably, if you had access to your dominant hand. yeah, you’d hit him, and then you’d kiss it better, and—

“i meant it.” jensen ducks his head to catch your downturned eyes, nudging your head up with his nose along your jawline to force the eye contact. “when i said i wanted you to look at me. wanted you to see me.” he lets go of your hand, then, and surprisingly, you don’t swing on him. not immediately, anyways. “you’re the only fucking person here in this place who doesn’t have some idea of me in their head, you know that?”

you guessed he was right, but how were you supposed to take any of this to heart when you felt like you were made of lightning? when your tears sprung in your eyes with the need for release that he wouldn’t give and kept you from getting on your own? “you try and lie to yourself, baby, try to make yourself feel better about the fact that i’m walkin’ out of that door today. you made up stories to make it easier, assigned me a happy family waitin’ back at the ackles residence, just so you didn’t have to think about the fact that i’m gonna be in my bed every night, fucking my hand raw to the thought of what those moans would sound like if i didn’t have to force them into a pillow, or my fingers.” 

jensen leans up to brush his mouth along yours, glancing between the both of your eyes for an answer he’s not getting. “now are you gonna be a good girl and let me make you come on my tongue, or do i have to keep arguing with you?” 

he doesn’t move an inch as he waits. his eyes are brutal, piercing, watching you with a conviction that no one else has dared to. everyone around you has had high expectations without the room to catch you if you missed them, but his expectations are in the realm of something you want.

just like you’re the first person to look at him without the precognitive impressions your father tried to instill in you, he’s the first person to look at you and see past the goals and the blind hope. you could fall and he’d catch you, so long as you fell from somewhere within what you wanted, and not someone else.

you nod, but it’s not enough. his voice is made of gravel and sin when he whispers, “use that pretty little voice of yours for me.” 

“okay,” you sputter out quickly, as if that alone could make him give in any quicker. “yes, yes yes—” 

his head cocks in his amusement. “yes what?”

“yes, i’ll be good—” 

jensen let go of your hand and your thigh at once. his forearms slip underneath your knees to drag you just a little closer, pulling your thighs up and over his shoulders. and when his tongue dips between your folds and licks up the slick slit before he can close his mouth around your clit again, he moans. 

he licks at your clit and your entrance like he’s starving, nibbling along your clit with each flick of his tongue, each slight movement of his head making the raw skin of your inner thighs that much more inflamed. 

it doesn’t take long for the crest of your orgasm to crash over you, not with the way he ravished with tongue and teeth along your puffy clit and dove his tongue into your entrance with the same intensity he fucked you with. your head tips back into the cabinets, shaking fingers pressed to your mouth being the only thing stopping you from letting out a wail that would inevitably alert the whole town to what you were doing. 

jensen doesn’t stop, though, as you ride out the intensity of your comedown. he laps up every drop of your juices, soothes the beardburn on your inner thighs with kisses along every part of your skin he can reach, sucks your throbbing clit in between his lips just to feel you squirm a couple more times.

when he finally rises to his full height, dropping your legs back down from his shoulders, he keeps his palms on top of your thighs, rubbing little circles through the fabric of your dress. “you look pretty like this,” he whispers, capturing your lips in a kiss so much more gentle than how he was being before, pressing the taste of yourself back into your mouth, “i think i need to see you like this more often.” 

it takes a moment for the words to register, blinking your eyes back into focus when you meet his again. “you can’t—” 

jensen gives you an unimpressed look, still wearing the slick of your juices along his mouth like a wet trophy. he goes to the fridge to take out the nearly empty orange juice bottle he’d drank from a couple days ago, messing with the cap between his two fingers. “give me your phone.” 

you want to question him, but the look he gives you makes your mouth shut. you pull your phone out from underneath your thigh, something that just makes him smirk. he holds the juice in one hand and your phone in the other, swiping through things outside of your line of sight.

he looks kind of ridiculous, in an endearing sort of way. he has an uncapped bottle of orange juice in one hand and a cell phone in the other, mouth wet like he’d been drinking right— 

oh. you almost laugh, then, at how simply he’d reduced what he’d just done to the cover story of drinking juice. like he hadn’t just about had you in tears for the third time in his weekend stay with how good he’d made you feel. 

you hop off of the counter onto wobbly legs, bending down to tug your panties back up from where he’d aimlessly tossed them beneath you. 

the screen door squeaks open and slams shut just as you straighten back up to your feet. your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at the sound of it, at the intensity of the close call you’d narrowly missed. 

jensen forks over your phone again, giving you a wink in the process. “should be all good.” 

“hey, you heading out?” your dad asks from the kitchen doorway, patting his hand on the kitchen wall. he glances between the both of you with a little grin, so oblivious it’d make you feel nauseous if you weren’t so focused on staying upright.

jensen lifts the juice bottle to his mouth again, finishing the rest of the juice off in a quick swig before wiping the excess — and the remainder of your wetness — away with his thumb and sucking it into his mouth. he doesn’t even need to look at you for you to stumble on a breath, looking down at the phone in your hand. 

“yeah,” jensen says, placing the glass bottle down next to you on the countertop you leaned up against. “got a little thirsty. needed somethin’ sweet to tie me over on the drive.” 

he shrugs his duffel over his shoulder again. you can hear the rustle of it without needing to look up, afraid that your expression will give everything away if you look at him now. “bye, little lady,” jensen says, and that draws your attention. he’s devastating like this for many reasons: because he’s leaving, because he smiles with the sun in his teeth, because he can be so sweet after he can be so mean. his two finger salute makes you smile, and you mimic one right back to him before his back turns again. 

daring to see what he did on your phone, you find it open to text messages, where he’d sent something to, assumedly, his number from your phone, after very sweetly naming his contact daddy a.

to: daddy a staying at a hotel for a few nights. i’ll send the room number if you’re feeling brave enough to sneak out.

a dare and a promise all in one. you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, your face blooming in pink, just as your dad lets out a scoff of laughter. “and i always thought that orange juice was too sour, not sweet.”

notes | i dont rly have commentary for this one i just want in his drawls so bad. i was sweatin from the moment i wrote him turning the hat around ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfeedback & reblogs appreciated <3 !!

tags | @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz @lanasgirlfr @h8aaz @coralfacecrown @doublecrazyyymofo @1ghxstt1 @mahi-wayy @narniabusinessbitch @zqarax @angelicjackles @arcannaa @am0rem @sthefferrete @v1v1-3 @spxideyver @suckitands33 @beausling @pieandflannel @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow @aurevina

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Even When the Night Changes

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: through injuries, breaks, and time everything changed, but not your love for each other.

Inspired by: One Direction’s Night Changes

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @shikaizer

Final Four Weekend – 2025, Tampa

Time moves fast.

Like, really fast.

One second I’m walking into Hopkins as the new girl after switching schools following my parents’ divorce—the product of my dad screwing his secretary—and the next, I’m lacing up my sneakers in a hotel room in Tampa, Florida, with my girlfriend of nearly a decade lying beside me.

Paige Bueckers.

My Paige.

And we’re here. The 2025 NCAA Championship game. Our final run as teammates.

And I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye.

The Night Before – April 5th, 2025 – Hotel Room, Tampa

After we beat UCLA in the Final Four, everything around me felt like static. Cheers, confetti, handshakes—it all blurred. The only thing I remembered clearly was Paige. The way she ran to me on the court, grinning so hard her eyes crinkled.

And now we were back in our room, everyone else out celebrating with staff and family. But us? We needed quiet.

I sat at the edge of the hotel bed, towel still around my neck, staring at my swollen ankle and the scar on my left knee. One ACL gone freshman year. The other, junior year. A broken foot my senior year. Rehab had become a second sport.

Paige sat across from me, still in her warmups. Her hair damp from her postgame shower, skin glowing in the soft lamplight. Her eyes were on me—like they always were.

“Do you realize,” I whispered, “this is our last night before our last game together?”

Her smile dropped slowly. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

I laughed, but it came out shaky. “Feels like we blinked. One second, we’re 15 and sneaking kisses behind the gym. Next, we’re champs bound.”

She crossed the room and knelt between my legs, resting her head against my good knee. “You remember when we said we’d play together in college?”

I nodded. “Everyone thought it was just a pipe dream.”

“But we did it,” she whispered. “Despite the injuries. Despite the breakups. Despite everything.”

My fingers tangled in her hair. “You never gave up on me.”

She looked up at me, blue eyes filled with quiet love. “How could I? You never stopped fighting.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until her thumb wiped a tear from my cheek.

Morning of the Championship Game – April 6th, 2025 – 6:00 a.m.

We woke up two hours before the rest of the team. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was fate.

I shifted under the covers, my back pressed to her chest, her arm snug around my waist.

“You awake?” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” I whispered back.

Neither of us moved for a while. Just laid there, hearts syncing.

“Win or lose today…” I started.

“Don’t,” she cut in gently, tightening her grip.

“I need to say it, Paige. Win or lose, this is it. Our last game. Our last warm-up together. Last tunnel walk. Last jump ball.”

She turned me in her arms, forehead resting against mine. “I’ve been trying not to think about that. But yeah. You’re right.”

“I’m gonna miss this,” I admitted. “Us. On the court. In the trenches together.”

Paige nodded, swallowing hard. “But I’m not done being in your corner. This isn’t goodbye.”

We stared at each other. My thumb brushed along her jaw, memorizing her in the golden light.

“I love you,” I said, voice breaking.

She kissed me softly. “I love you more.”

Game Day – 3:23 p.m. Tip-Off

We had warmed up together, same as always. Same as we had since we were 13.

I shot corner threes while she practiced her handles. She passed me a bounce pass, and I flicked it in without thinking. We moved like a machine. Like we were made for this.

Coach Geno’s voice echoed from the bench. “Let’s finish what we started.”

The arena roared. And we locked pinkies for a moment before taking the floor, four our final tip off together.

UConn vs. South Carolina – 2025 NCAA Championship

We destroyed them. 82–59.

Paige was on fire—17 points, 6 rebounds, 3 assists. But more than that, she was locked in. Focused. Fierce. Everything a leader should be.

Me? I gave everything. My body, my mind, my soul. This wasn’t just a game. This was our game.

With 1:32 left in the fourth quarter, Coach Geno called for her.

The crowd rose.

Paige turned toward the bench, chest heaving. She touched her heart, then jogged over. First, she hugged Coach. Then every single one of our teammates.

I stood last in the line.

She looked at me, eyes swimming. I couldn’t breathe.

She pulled me in, arms wrapped so tight I nearly folded.

“I’ll always be proud of you,” she whispered against my neck. “Always.”

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” I whispered back, tears slipping free.

We pulled back just enough to do our special handshake—one we made back in 10th grade. It looked ridiculous, but to us, it meant everything.

Coach Geno held the trophy high. Paige, the team and I stood just behind him, her hands resting lightly on my waists.

The confetti came down like a dream.

“This is what we worked for,” she said into my ear.

“No,” I whispered, brushing her cheek. “This—you and me—that’s what I worked for.”

Cutting the Net

We took turns. Paige climbed the ladder second to last. Snipped a piece, smiled for the cameras. But when she turned, her eyes searched for mine.

I climbed last of the team. Heart pounding.

When I snipped my piece and turned around, she was waiting at the bottom of the ladder, arms open.

I leapt.

Later That Night – Back at the Hotel

The celebration was wild. But Paige and I found ourselves on the balcony again, together.

Stars overhead. The moon lighting up her skin.

“Everything we dreamed of,” I whispered, leaning against her. “It’s real.”

“But it’s disappearing when we wake up,” she said softly.

I glanced at her. “But nothing will change me and you, right?”

Her eyes met mine.

“Never.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[livelaughlovesubs]

HI YES IT IS I 🃏 ANON AGAIN, i saw you were just about to close request boxes and i know i just sent one for Sampo a few days ago but ughhh, this has been on my mind recently.

AMAB reader (yes i’m elaborating here) catching nikolai masturbating (could involve his portals, could not) and just reader just fucking him into submission. like at first niko is all cocky about being caught but then he’s just face down ass up being fucked.

soo yeah, shorter request but, just a thing!

Dom!AMAB!reader x sub!nikolai

Warnings: caught masturbation, anal sex (this time the reader is described to have a pp), hair pulling, a little degradation, little bit teasing, maybe edging, dacryphilia

Sometimes less is more :> also I decided to set it in the sky casino cuz why not (edit: I wrote this like a fucking perv what)

“Sigma I’m telling you, I’m hearing strange noises coming out of this room.” You whispered into the telephone, fingers fumbling with the handset cord. The male on the other end of the line looked through some papers, the device clamped between his ear and shoulder. “What’s the number?” He asked, and you squinted your eyes as you stared at the sign. “Errr, 41?” Without missing a beat, he immediately answered, “ah, that’s nikolai’s room. He’s probably doing some magic tricks, no need to panic.” That was quick, did he remember every single guest and their rooms?

“But it sounds like an anima—” before you could finish your sentence, another telephone rang in the background, and the manager, busy as ever, quickly said his goodbyes before hanging up on you. “Wait- listen to me, I swear—” Thud, thud, thud… well damn, guess he really doesn’t have time to spare. Another weird, muffled sound echoed from the room, and you gulped. This was supposedly kolai’s room, then it’d make sense for peculiar noises to erupt from it. Maybe you should let it be…

Yet you found yourself standing right in front of the door, curiosity piqued. You pressed your hand against the door, wanting to knock when you remembered you had a key to his room. He gave it to you, saying he didn’t need one. It was pretty tempting to just go inside and take a look, but your morality prevented you from doing so. In the end, you did knock. Once, twice, then a third time. When nothing happened, you even knocked a fourth time while yelling, “kolai, it’s me.”

How unusual, if Nikolai was in there, he’d come rushing to the door in an instant. Especially if he heard your voice. Since it’s come to this, one look won’t hurt. With a quiet click, you unlocked the room, tiptoeing inside. The moment you peeked around the corner, your eyes were met with a scene akin to a dog in heat.

Nikolai was almost stripped bare, pants pilling around his ankles and jacket dangling from his arms. His mouth agape as he panted heavily, chest heaving with every breath. That white hair of his was loose and spread out over the king sized bed, and his body flushed and sweaty. But the most eye-catching part must be his hand, which was working himself open between parted legs. “Ngh- y/n~… ah, hnngh~~♥︎” he moaned out, voice all slurry and lewd.

Wait a second, did he just moan out your name?

Suddenly a rather loud bang echoed through the room reeking of lust and sex, it was the door falling into the lock behind you. In an instand, his miss-matched eyes met yours, and his movements stilled. “Ah-? What are you doing here?” He asked, pulling his fingers out and cleaning them with the bedsheets, “ohhh right, I gave you the key. Didn’t think you’d use it for voyeurism.” How comes the moment he talks to you he’s ticking you off already?

“You were the whore moaning so loud I almost called security.” You snapped back at him, stepping closer once he smirked. Then you decided to tease him a little, “but I heard you say my name? What kind of dirty fantasy were you having about me?” He leaned back against the headboard, scoffing, “interested in my masturbation habits? My my, how perverted of you.”

“Hah! You seem quite bold for someone who’s been caught.” Nikolai jerked at your comment, his lips spreading into a feral looking grin, “are you disappointed I’m not an embarrassed, blushing damsel?” You moved closer to him, climbing onto the bed, both hands clasped over his knees. “Disappointed? Why, I can still turn you into a blushing mess.” Then you spread his legs, revealing his twitching dick and gaping hole, laughing to yourself, “now I’m starting to think you were waiting for me to catch you. Look how eager you are.”

He cupped his hand over your bulge, scoffing with a pout, “who’s the eager one now? You are the one with dirty intentions.” Suddenly, his legs wrapped around your waist, and he pulled your waistband down, giggling. “Hehe~ so stop talking and fuck me, will ya?” With a dissatisfied scowl, you grabbed his hand, pinning it above his head. “Why does it feel like I’m doing you a favour?” When you saw his cheeky smile and excited expression, you knew why.

“This won’t do, I should be punishing you after all.” You mumbled, and turned him around, still pinning one of his arms over his head. The other hand was holding him by his hips, making him raise his ass up into the air. But you didn’t even need to guide him, he did it willingly, shaking his butt and grinding back against your bulge. “No need to be so serious, we are doing this to have fun after all, riiiiight?” And his breath hitched when he heard the sound of clothes rattling.

Since he already prepared himself, you only needed to squeeze some lube onto your arousal, spreading it around before pressing the tip to his entrance. The next few moment were spend teasing him, edging him on. He couldn’t help but gasp when you inserted the tip, the arm pinned beneath your hand trembling as he whispered, “mhm, feels good~” though you pulled out almost immediately, the other hand caressing his back. “Not yet.” You said, fingertips grazing down his spine.

“N-no! D-don’t tease~!!” He arched his back so nicely for you, pushing his hips out on purpose, you had to savour this moment. “Don’t you like playing games? Don’t worry, it’s not like I won’t ever fuck you.” Then you pressed inside again, only to pull out a few moments later, repeating the tease until he got fed up. He yanked his arm free from your grasp, and pushed himself up a little to glare back at you.

Nikolai faked an angry sigh, saying, “I’d rather use my fingers if you keep this up!” But his cheeks were flushed, a thin layer of sweat covered his shaking body, and his white locks stuck to his forehead. “Are you sure about that?” You wondered, this time inserting more of your length into him, and he noticed immediately. His tight passage stretching to accommodate you, lips parted around a lewd moan, “ahhh..!! F-fuck, d-don’t pull out… dont—!”

You didn’t listen to him, obviously, and he snarled, “hnngh! Are you that offended by what I said? So childish!!” He hit the pillow underneath him, hands bawled into fists as he desperate pushed back to chase the friction. “No, I’m enjoying your reactions.” When he heard your answer, he was the one agitated now. Whipping his head back but stopping once your hand gripped his hair by the roots, making him arch even more. “Arghh~♥︎♡?!” The pain was unexpected, but it felt so good his tongue slipped out of his mouth, eyes blurry as he gasped for air.

“What a nasty masochist you are, acting out of line just to get punished” you chuckled, suddenly slamming into him with one rough thrust. Making him take you whole. His nails dug holes into the pillowcase, voice high pitched and lewd as he groaned, “ah-ahhh!! Finally ♡, ah-hnngh, so deep, feels so- nghh, good♥︎♡♡”

It wasn’t his first time taking you, by no means, but no matter how often he did, he’d always moan like an addicted slut. Was he just that into getting fucked or into you?

When you began moving in a steady rhythm, still in the process of finding his prostate, you let go of his hair, letting him drop face-first back onto the pillow. You needed your hands to grip his waist after all. “Was it here? Ugh- don’t clench down so much, kolai.” Your fingers rubbed circles into his skin, telling him to relax. A wet spot was forming on the pillow, wet from his drool and tears. When you found that sweet spot inside him, he basically melted, hole quivering around you as he tried to grind your tip against the spot.

“T-there, moreeee~ won’t you, pleaaase?” He begged, grinning back at you. “Here, you say?” You hit that place again, to check it out, and he moaned loudly, “hnNghh~♡♡♡ yes, there, there- so gooood~” That’s when you began pressing his head down into the pillows, muffling his voice as you said, “so loud again, want to get caught or what?”

Nikolai tried to answer you, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying, so you simply went back to making a beautiful mess out of him. It was a matter of seconds until he began sobbing on your cock, face and body a flushed ruin yet unable to protest. Not that he wanted to, he was enjoying it like the dirty thing he was. Thrusting back in sync, eyes rolling back as he adored the blissful feeling of you nestled deep inside him.

He could feel his dick twitching and leaking uselessly, the wet squelching sounds of skin against skin echoing off the walls, paired with the muffled whimpers and whines seeping from his parted lips. The last thing he remembered was the heat bubbling in his core, and of course the feeling of you abusing his prostate until he couldn’t breath anymore~ oh this was going to be fun ♡

[yukioos]

helloo i really like your write and i was thinking about Bakugou’s foreing gf from latin america, Brazil or another? And suddenly she says some expressions in her mother language like “katsuki, vem aqui!” (Katsuki, c’ mere) or even in text messages like “cadê você.” (where are u) and be gets so confused. And one day he randomly comes to reader and asks “could you say what the heck these thing means?” So reader explains some of them to him.

thanks!

having to explain your phrases to katsuki

in the common room, you were hanging out with some of the girls in one section, and the boys were separated in the other. they talked about their own interests as you talked about yours, engaging in gossip that mina heard from eijiro a couple of days ago. apparently, eijiro liked someone but was too scared to tell her, and kept it to himself until he eventually told mina.

when the girls found that out, they had the idea for you to ask katsuki because he and the redhead were best friends, even if he didn’t admit it. reluctantly, you agreed, but your boyfriend was amazing at keeping secrets. it was unlikely for him to tell you his best friend’s crush unless eijiro directly permitted him to.

so you shouted across the room, “katsuki, vem aquí!” and held your hands around your mouth.

the blonde immediately puckered up and turned his back from you to the boys in front of him. what the hell did you just say? he blankly stared at you until you made a ‘come here’ motion with your hands around, ushering him to get closer to you.

he sat on the couch next to you, where you sat criss-cross, then you laid your legs over his and placed your hand on his bicep, pulling him closer to you. he tried to hold back a smirk to no avail, and eventually gave up as you looked up at him with sweet eyes.

“hey, mina told me that eijiro likes someone. do you know who it is?” you asked, showing off a smile as the other girls giggled and watched the two of you talk.

he stayed silent for a minute before glancing away, then looking back at you. he leaned his face closer to yours and lowly spoke into your ear, “i know but i can’t tell anyone.”

once he pulled away, you whined and pouted, “katsukiiiii!”

you then leaned back and lightly kicked his thigh, when he gently grabbed your ankle and pulled you closer to him with ease. he whispered, “come to my room later and i’ll give you a few hints.”

a gasp left your mouth and you almost violently nodded, softly kicking your feet in excitement. he kissed your cheek then returned to his group, where he stayed quiet for most of the conversation.

but once the sky became dark, and your classmates began to yawn and even nod off, you decided it was time to go to bed. you didn’t see the blonde anywhere in the room, so you sent him a quick message.

katsuki lay on his bed, scrolling through his phone when he saw a text from you reading, ‘cadê você??????’ ‘katsukiiiii’ ‘answer me’ all within a couple of seconds. he scoffed, he didn’t even know what you meant by the first message. hopefully you would just follow him into your room once he picked you up. he grinned and laughed to himself before standing up and making his way to the common area, where he expected you to be.

after you waved to your friends goodbye, some of them still stayed in the common room, while others left to sleep, a warm hand suddenly engulfed yours. you rubbed the rough hand, quickly realizing it was katsuki’s. he dragged you to his room without a second thought and placed his hand on your back to guide you.

then you jumped onto your boyfriend’s soft bed and sprawled your limbs across it, you asked, “so, who does kirishima like?”

“you know her.” he stated, making your jaw drop.

“no fucking shit, katsuki! who the hell would he like that i don’t know of?!” you retorted, looking back at his muscular form and smirk on his face.

“that’s all you’re getting, whiny.” he took his shirt off and crawled into bed with you before asking, “what the hell were you even saying earlier?”

you turned to your lover and held eye contact before swinging your leg across his hip, “what d’ya mean?”

“you said it two times back in the lounge area then you texted me another one. the first one was… vem something, and,” he pulled his phone from out of his pocket and scrolled up in your chats, holding one of your messages, “this one.” it read cadê você.

you chuckled, “kats, i thought you already knew what those meant! you always did exactly what i told you to!” he had a scowl on his face and placed his hand on your stomach, trying to hide his face without seeming shy. “the first thing i said was vem aquí. i’ll confess, i got a bit agitated when you didn’t come over to me immediately.”

he guessed, “so it means ‘come here’?”

“oh, yes, good job, my boy!” you coddled him and placed his face in your hands, making him grunt and fake fight back, although he secretly loved it. of course, he would never admit it. “the second one means ‘where are you?’. that may have been a little more difficult for you though.”

he grumbled and turned his back to you, “whatever.”

you giggled and wrapped your arms and legs around him and stated, “eu te amo,” then grinned into his hair.

“what does that one mean?” he mumbled, sleep evident in his voice.

“it means i love you.”

he let out a small, “tch,” before turning back around and placing his face in the crook of your neck, trying to hide the blush that was forming on his face. he kissed your neck three times, his own way of saying, ‘i love you.’

this was super fun to make, i hope you like it! hope i got the last translation right, too! im so glad you like my writing btw ❤️

[anmwrites]

Stubborn

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Hi friends! I was originally planning on posting one of my already written fics, but since this was requested I made it first priority! I hope I did the request justice (and didn't miss anything when I proofing it). Forewarning, I feel like I absolutely suck at ending stories, so I apologize if the ending is terrible >:( This was written as a FMC as well, but please change to whatever makes you feel comfortable when reading.

Warnings: Cursing, slight sexual innuendos (?), and faint mentions of childhood trauma.

Other Notes: Xaden being more fluffy, maybe, than usual; reader being moody and not really knowing why she's upset (I think I put some of myself into that oop); pretty rusty at this so I hope it doesn't suck lol.

I also want to go ahead and say that I take trigger warnings very seriously as someone who has struggled with mental health, so for future fics please let me know if I miss anything. This one felt a little lighter than some fics I've written in the past, but I don't want to hurt anyone in any way. Please always take caution even though I will list any warnings. Your mental health matters!

On that note, I hope everyone enjoys and finds a little escape with our favorite shadow wielder! (Disclaimer: I do not own any photos below)

To say the adjustment to training with and well, in general, to having fliers around was easy is a lie. A complete. Fucking. Lie. The only thing both riders and fliers had in common were the amount of fights they caused with one another. That was it. 

Y/N tried. She really, really tried to make the best of a shitty situation, but she was almost at her breaking point. Especially with Xaden’s ex roaming the halls. She was one bad comment away from Sgaeyl biting her head off for snapping at him. 

“He’s not into her anymore,” Violet said, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts as she stared, more like glared, at the short-haired bitch from across the dining hall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N snipped back. “Yes, you do. You are this close to starting a fight with her. Don’t be like Ridoc, you’re a lot more level headed than him,” she said, pinching her fingers together to show a miniscule amount of space. “Hey! It was one fight,” Ridoc exclaimed from across the table. 

“One fight too many,” Violet mumbled rolling her eyes at their spastic friend. “I’m fine,” Y/N huffed. The entire squad gave her a knowing look. She rolled her eyes, “Whatever, I’ll see you losers in class.” Ridoc gave her a cheerful smile as she stood, everyone else grumbling their goodbyes. 

A silk-like touch wrapped around her ankles as she made her way out of the dining hall. Y/N didn’t have to look to know Xaden sent his shadows trailing after her, a silent inquiry as to where she was going. She just shook her foot, not wanting to think nor speak to her boyfriend. As if Zihnal himself had a personal vendetta against her, though, a rough hand grabbed her arm. 

Y/N turned to find Xaden staring down at her, a hint of concern written in those beautiful eyes. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Kill time before our next class,” Y/N shrugged, refusing to look at him. Truth be told, ever since she found out Cat was Xaden’s ex, she really tried to avoid him, a nasty feeling permanently making its home in her stomach. 

“Well, I gathered as much,” Xaden rolled his eyes, releasing her arm. “I can come with,” he suggested, his tone much softer than what the entire riders quadrant would ever hear. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said flatly. Xaden made a face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” “You’ve been saying that for the past two weeks now. Yet I barely get to see you, and you’re avoiding me.” Y/N just shrugged, “I’m busy.” Xaden scoffed, a darker expression replacing his concerned features. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing at her waist before running his hand along the curve of her body. She felt her breath sweep out of her. “Don’t you miss this?” He leaned in, whispering in her ear. He planted a feather-light kiss on the shell of it, sending heat rushing through her body. 

Y/N almost forgot why she was so mad. Until a nasally voice cut through the air. “Xaden!” she practically shrieked. Y/N cleared her throat, taking a step back out of his embrace. “I’ll see you later,” she mumbled before melting into the crowd. A furious expression graced Xaden’s face as he watched Y/N retreat before turning to face Cat. “What do you want?” he snapped. She sauntered over with a flirtatious smile. “Trouble in paradise?” she drawled. Xaden just crossed his arms. Cat flashed him a saccharine smile, “You know, I can always make you feel better. I do know how to make you feel better.” She smirked, and tried to reach her hand out to touch his face. Xaden shot a hand out, forcefully gripping her wrist. “You don’t get to fucking touch me anymore,” he snarled. Her swaggering facade fell slightly as she squirmed to try and get out of his grasp. 

“Fine,” she snapped. He released her. “You’ll come crawling back to me once you get bored with that one.” Xaden glared at her. “I don’t do sloppy seconds,” he spit before turning on his heel and leaving her. 

__

Maybe you should just talk to him, Nordys, Y/N’s black scorpion tail huffed as they lounged in one of the many fields within the nesting grounds around Aretia. That’s not happening. Nordys’ head swiveled in her direction, coming eye level to her. His green eyes narrowed into slits. You’re being childish. He is your mate. 

One, ew he’s not my mate. He’s my boyfriend. And two, what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Xaden, I fucking hate your ex-girlfriend. She makes my life and my squadmates’ lives a living hell. Drags up very painful memories from my childhood. Can I please incinerate her?’ Nordys let out a chortle which was eerily similar to a laugh. Yes. Essentially that. He is the wingleader. And I would be happy to oblige by incinerating her and her mount. Y/N smiled softly at the thought, leaning against his side. At least someone understood. 

Tairn just said he would turn a blind eye to it as well. Sgaeyl agreed too. We would have free reign to kill them all, Nordys continued. That’s a shock considering they won’t let Andarna do it. 

Andarna is a petulant adolescent. She must learn patience and discipline. At least that’s what Tairn told me. 

Y/N sighed. I just don’t know what I’d say to him. I’m not mad at him. He’s entitled to have ex’s. I would be shocked if he didn’t. It’s just…I really hate her.  

You are ten times the human she is. You do not need to worry about your position as Xaden’s mate. Y/N groaned, Stop calling him that. Boyfriend, he is my boyfriend. We’ve talked about this. And I’m not worried about my position with Xaden. It’s just…well, I’ve told you before. My mother chased after rich men her entire life. They basically used her for her body and left her in the gutter. 

I will call him as I see fit and you are not your mother. You are a rider, Nordys huffed, before laying his head down and closing his eyes. You need to go to class now, he said after a moment. Y/N groaned again. He was right. She was going to be late, and Professor Emetterio would have her head. Fine. Have fun doing whatever it is you do, Y/N grumbled, gathering her things. Nordys let out a hot breath in her face before launching himself into the sky leaving Y/N to trek to class. 

__

Y/N’s moment of peace was ruined the moment she stepped into combat training. The fliers were gathered on one side of the mat while the riders stood on the opposite side. “I see immersion into our current living situations are going well,” Emetterio mumbled mostly to himself. Professor Devera just let out a quiet laugh from where she stood beside her colleague. Xaden was standing near the door, pointedly staring at Y/N while she was doing everything she could not to meet his hard gaze. 

“Well, since everyone wants to fight everyone outside of this class, we will be pairing riders with fliers,” Emetterio’s voice boomed through the room. There was an audible groan from both sides. 

“Good, now then!” He continued. Y/N zoned out as everyone began pairing off while he called names. Only when her name and her opponent was called did she really pay attention. Her blood ran cold as Cat stared back at her with a dark grin on her face. 

“You’ve got this,” Violet whispered from her right. Rhiannon nodded in agreement from her left. “You’ve been trained by Xaden himself. You’re one of our strongest fighters,” Ridoc came up behind her, clapping her on the back. Y/N just gave them a look before stepping on the mat. “Begin,” Emetterio called. 

Cat smirked and she began dancing around on her feet. “It’s about time we got paired together,” Cat commented. Y/N snorted, watching her closely. Timing was everything. Xaden taught her that. Study your opponent and assess their weak side if possible. Especially when you go to the mat during class. His voice rang clear in her head from all those late nights spent training. 

“Let’s make it interesting,” Cat continued on, “Winner gets Xaden?” Y/N glared back at her, “He’s not some trophy.” She let out a sultry laugh, “You’re right. He isn’t. He’d be one for you, but not for me. You see, we’re royalty, him and I. So it’s just the perfect match.” 

Y/N let out an inhumane snarl before lunging at her. To her utter shock, Cat maneuvered out of her way resulting in Y/N punching the air. She swung around and landed a sweep to Y/N’s legs, knocking her on her face. Fury rippled through her as she swung around trying to knock Cat off her feet with a swift kick, but to her surprise, yet again, Cat took the hit and rolled right back into her stance exactly…exactly like Xaden. 

Her cackle was like nails on a chalkboard. Y/N pushed herself up quickly, going through the next steps just like Xaden showed her, but Cat didn’t miss a beat, moving just like how Xaden would when they trained. 

Y/N froze for just a second, as she watched for the fifth time, as Cat moved just like him. Her moment cost her, and next thing she knew, a fist met her face. Y/N stumbled towards the edge of the mat where Violet and Ridoc caught her and kept her from falling over. “S-she was taught by Xaden. Every single one of his moves. She knows them,” Y/N panted. “It doesn’t matter. Focus,” Vi encouraged. While Y/N thought no one noticed, she was really wrong. Cat got under her skin. Everyone could see it. 

“Finish it,” Ridoc snarled at her, his hard stare on Cat, who was still laughing. “Ready to tap out yet?” she goaded. Seeing red, Y/N shoved herself off of Violet and Ridoc. Faster than she had ever been, she lunged for Cat. Her fist met flesh with the satisfying crunch of Cat’s nose. 

Cat snarled before whipping back up, slugging Y/N in the face again. “You bitch!” she hissed. Y/N laughed, the coppery tang of blood filling her mouth. “You broke my nose,” Cat snarled. “Sucks to suck,” Y/N smirked. “Argh!” Cat exploded, reaching in her belt and ripping out a dagger. 

Y/N had moments to react. She went straight for the onyx hilted blade at her side, barely blocking Cat’s attack before she could leave a permanent scar across her face. She felt a faint sting on her cheek, but that was the least of her worries because Cat lunged at her again. Rage built within Y/N. She began striking back, dodging every one of her blows. She was fairly certain Cat was using her abilities on her to rile her up, but she didn’t care. Part of this anger was all Y/N’s.

She could barely hear Emetterio yelling at them to drop the weapons. Barely hear her squadmates and the fliers edging on the fight. It was turning sloppy. Both began ripping at each other’s hair, trying to cut one another. Until strong arms wrapped around her center, yanking Y/N off of Cat, who’s entire face was bloody. 

“You won,” a soft voice caressed her ear. “Sweetheart, you won. You proved your point,” Xaden’s shadows wrapped lovingly around her struggling form. Y/N was still seeing red. Cat was shrieking profanities at her as her friends were trying to hold her back. “You fucking whore!” Cat screamed, “He’ll come crawling back after he gets sick of fucking your pathetic ass–” “Cat!” Xaden’s voice boomed. 

Y/N snarled and went to lunge again, but Xaden whirled on her, body blocking her with his chest. “Darling, calm down,” he said. “Look at me!” Two hands gripped her face tightly and she felt the fight slowly slip away. Her eyes met his beautiful gold-flecked onyx eyes. “There you go. Calm down. It’s alright, you won,” he was breathing heavily. Nothing but pride filled his face. 

The high wore off and she finally took a moment to breathe. Y/N glanced around and saw Violet and Rhiannon give her a grimace, but they looked happy nonetheless. Ridoc looked like he just had a blast, and everyone else began whispering excitedly as Emetterio dismissed them. 

She looked back to Xaden who was still staring at her intently. “You were fantastic,” he breathed. “I’ve never seen you move that fast. Albeit it got sloppy there at the end, but still.” That ugly feeling resumed its place within her as the reality of what just happened sunk in. “She fought like you,” Y/N whispered. Xaden tensed. “She fucking fought like you because you trained her,” Y/N hissed, stepping out of his grip. 

“Y/N,” Xaden sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She just shook her head and turned on her heel, storming out. 

“Y/N wait!” his voice followed her out as she stormed through the halls. Y/N nearly made it to her room before Xaden caught her arm. “What is going on with you?” he asked, with an exasperated look. “You fucking trained her Xaden!” she shrieked. Emotion began pouring out of her. “It’s one thing that I have to pretend to be civil with your ex when all she does is spew shit out about how she’s royalty and that I’m just a side-piece! And now I find out you taught her how to fight?” 

“So what if I taught her how to fight?” Xaden snarled, his temper flaring. He could not, for the love of Amari, figure out what the big deal was. “I-I, just don’t know,” Y/N muttered, exhaustion finally sweeping in. She could feel her cheeks dampen as tears rolled freely down her face. Embarrassment coursing through her. She didn’t even know when she started crying. 

Xaden threw his hands up in the air, still clearly frustrated. “You don’t know? You don’t know? I have been trying to talk to you for two weeks now! How many times do I have to tell you that I am in love with you? So deeply in love with you!” he shouted. Y/N just stared at him.

“Are you mad at me? Jealous? What is wrong!” he asked. Y/N opened her mouth and then closed it. Was she mad at him? “No,” she exhaled, “I’m not mad at you. I, I just don’t know why I’m so upset. I mean there’s a very large possibility that Cat has been manipulating my emotions, but I’ve just had this horrible feeling sitting in my gut ever since I found out about your history with her,” she concluded.  “You have nothing to be worried about,” Xaden sighed. “That feeling, my dear, is called jealousy.” 

Y/N just shook her head. In all reality, she really didn’t want to talk about it with him. He knew what her past was, but just because he said it didn’t bother him didn’t mean it never bothered her. 

She pushed open her door planning on slamming it in his face, but he caught it and followed her in. “Just talk to me. Please, baby, just talk to me,” he said quietly, resting his hand on her cheek and wiping a stray tear away. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s just…you were going to marry her. Marry her, Xaden. She’s practically a princess where she comes from. She was practically your first for everything. And she struts around here like she’s still going to be married to you, calling me a whore and all of the other names in the book. Constantly reminding me,” Y/N let out a shaky breath and opened her eyes, "reminding me of where I came from that I so desperately want to forget.” 

Xaden studied her for a moment, his features visibly softening. “You aren’t your mother,” he said quietly. Y/N scoffed. “You really aren’t. You didn’t end up like her.” “What? Fawning over rich, powerful men who only cared when she spread her legs open for them?” Y/N mumbled.

“Is that how you think of us?” Xaden questioned. “No? Yes? I don’t know. It’s just with her here, it’s what it felt like,” Y/N whispered. Xaden let out a breath before wrapping her in his arms. “It’s not,” he murmured into her hair, “It’s more than that. I love you for you. For your light, intelligence, your stubbornness…absolutely everything. She may have been my first but you will be my last. My heart has always belonged to you and will always belong to you in this life and the next.” 

Y/N felt a wave of calm and reassurance wash over her. She melted deeper into his embrace, breathing his all too familiar scent. “I love you too,” Y/N grumbled into his chest, “And I’m sorry for not talking to you sooner.” Xaden chuckled, pulling away slightly. “It’s fine my sweet girl,” he gave her one of his smiles only she was allowed to see. 

“Now can I kiss you or are you going to bite my head off?” He smirked. Y/N rolled her eyes, gripping his face and pulling it down to hers. Xaden’s lips met hers in a fervor. The taste of him all consuming. Kissing Xaden was like a dream, but this? After two weeks of walking on eggshells? Well, Y/N was practically floating. 

His tongue swiped her bottom lip, asking for permission. Y/N happily obliged, parting her lips to give him access. His hands roamed freely all over her body sending lightning cascading down her spine. She let out a soft groan as he deepened the kiss, both of them moving in tandem backwards towards the bed. Y/N hardly registered her legs bumping into it before she fell backwards. The soft duvet fluffed up around her as Xaden followed in suit until he was settled in between her legs. He leaned in bearing more of his weight down and – 

“Oof,” she grunted, a zap of pain shooting up her back. Xaden froze, pushing up off her. “I’m fine,” she whined, staring up at him. “You took a nasty beating,” he commented, pushing fully up and off of her. Y/N just let out another pathetic whine, missing the feel of his lips and body on hers. 

Xaden just chuckled and held out his hands. “Not until you’re cleaned up and feeling better,” he tutted. “Up.” Y/N rolled her eyes, but grabbed his hands. He did have a point. Her whole body had begun aching. “Fine,” she huffed. “But as soon as I’m all patched up, can we go back to kissing?” He let out a glorious laugh, “Yes, love. We can go back to kissing.”

____________

See, I told you my endings are always lame. I'm so sorry. Will also start building a Masterlist soon too.

[leriexoxo]

A Hot Mess 2

Chan x Possessive! Reader

Tags: smut, MDNI, friends to lovers, possesive behavior, angst, fighting, hot angry sex, confession, unprotected sex, cursing

Word count: 4k

Summary: Neither of you ever talked about that night. But something changed. Chan became the one hovering, watching, touching too much, acting like he had a right to be mad when you pulled away—when you danced with someone else. He never asked to be yours. But now he’s furious that you belong to anyone else

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

prev

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

You were at his place again.

Not because you wanted to be, not because he asked, but because pretending things were normal was easier than being alone with your thoughts.

Chan sat across from you, one leg bouncing restlessly as his eyes flicked between the muted movie and you. He hadn’t touched the popcorn between you, hadn’t laughed once, hadn’t said much beyond, “You want the remote?” earlier.

You hadn’t said much either.

It had been four days since that night. Four days since you pulled him into that room, fought and clawed at him like a wild animal, fucked him like you hated him—and then cried in his arms while your fingernails left angry little half-moons in his skin.

But since then? Nothing.

No conversation. No “what are we?” No real acknowledgment that it even happened. You had slipped back into old routines with painful effort—like walking on a broken ankle, pretending it was fine.

Except he wasn’t fine.

He was acting like nothing had changed, like you were his something—but in small, insidious ways. The way he hovered behind you in the kitchen. The way his hand always rested on your back when he passed you. The way he stared. Hard. Like he was thinking things he didn’t know how to say.

And now, sitting in his hoodie with your legs curled up on his couch, you could feel him watching again.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

His voice broke the silence, soft but a little too controlled.

“You going out tonight?”

Your eyes stayed on the screen, pretending you were actually watching it. “Nah. Think I’ll just stay in.”

A pause.

You felt the pause, heavy and deliberate, like he was waiting for you to flinch but you didn’t.

He nodded slowly, and you didn’t need to look at him to know he didn’t believe you. His knee stopped bouncing.

“Didn’t Jeongin say there was some party?”

“I’m not in the mood for a party,” you said simply, standing up like you needed water even though you didn’t. Your throat was dry for a different reason entirely.

Chan watched you walk toward the kitchen, eyes dragging over you like a curse.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you said, just loud enough that he’d hear it and just quiet enough that he couldn’t respond to it.

The air tensed again.

He didn’t follow you. He never used to give you space, not like this. He used to trail behind you like a shadow, laugh in your ear, drape himself over your back while you poured cereal just because he could.

Now he just watched.

And you hated it.

—

You left early.

Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t linger like usual. Just grabbed your things and left his apartment like it wasn’t the only place that still felt safe.

Chan sat in the silence long after the door shut behind you.

He stared at the TV, still playing some half-watched movie neither of you cared about. The popcorn bowl sat untouched beside him.

He ran a hand down his face with a long exhale.

Maybe it was time to let you go.

Clearly, whatever had happened that night—whatever he’d let happen—had only made things worse. You wouldn’t look at him the same way. Wouldn’t talk to him. He thought, maybe if he gave you space, if he didn’t push, if he just waited… things would fall back into place.

Maybe he could forget how it felt to have your hands clawing at him, to hear you cry his name in the same breath you cursed him, to see you break and realize he’d been the one to shatter you.

But hours passed, and forgetting didn’t come easy.

He grabbed his phone to distract himself. Mindless scrolling. Cat video. Meme. A reel of someone’s new tattoo. Until—

His thumb stopped.

A familiar background. A mutual friend’s story. Bright lights. Loud music. A party.

Jeongin’s party.

His chest already felt tight before he even spotted you.

But then—there you were. Just a blur at first, moving behind a group selfie. Laughing. Head thrown back. A dress he hadn’t seen before.

Grinding on someone.

The video looped.

His breath punched out of him. Not anger. Not even jealousy. Something uglier.

He tapped the screen, trying to catch another glimpse. Rewatching. Zooming.

You were pressed up against some guy he didn’t even recognize—your hand resting on his chest like it belonged there. Flirting. Smiling. Dancing on him.

Chan’s jaw locked.

He dialed your number without thinking. It rang.

And rang.

No answer.

He called again. Still nothing. Third time. Voicemail.

His hand curled tight around the phone.

‘She lied.’

‘She fucking lied to my face.’

Another story popped up on his feed—a different angle, a better view. The guy had his hands on your hips now.

Something in Chan snapped clean in half.

—

You felt him watching you before you even saw him.

It was like a sixth sense—skin crawling, chest tightening, heart skipping a beat for all the wrong reasons. You were laughing, lips brushing close to some guy’s ear, your drink half-gone and your body swaying with the music when everything around you suddenly… shifted.

The air changed.

Your smile faltered, barely noticeable to anyone but you. Your heart thudded once, hard. Your eyes lifted just in time to see the front door swing shut behind him.

Chan.

He was standing there, still, stone-faced, chest rising and falling like he’d run here. His eyes locked onto you instantly—no scanning the room, no polite greetings. Just you. Only you.

And then he moved.

Not toward you. Not at first. Just into the room, slow, deliberate steps that made your breath catch in your throat.

You tried to laugh again, like nothing was wrong. Like your spine hadn’t just turned to ice.

The guy next to you leaned in, oblivious. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—need some air.”

You slipped away before Chan could reach you, heart pounding.

⸻

He watched you run. Coward.

He followed, silent and seething. Every step he took echoed with the sound of your laughter in that video. Your body on someone else’s. Your voice lying to his face.

He found you in the hallway near the back of the house—dim lighting, low music, empty space.

When you turned, he was already there. Followed you when you entered the room at the end of the hall and locked the door.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Your mouth opened, but the look on his face knocked the words from your tongue. He looked wrecked. And dangerous.

“I—”

“You lied to me.”

“I needed space.”

“So you lied.” His voice was quiet, sharp. “You needed space to grind on some fucking stranger?”

You bristled, crossing your arms. “Why do you care? You’ve barely said two words to me since that night.”

“Oh, I haven’t said anything?” He took a step closer. “You cried in my arms and then acted like I was a stranger the next day. You wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I was trying to forget it happened!”

His jaw clenched. “You looked real forgetful tonight.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flip this on me. You didn’t call to talk about it. You didn’t ask. You just watched me fall apart.”

“What I did watch was you fucking me and then pretending it meant nothing.”

Silence.

You flinched, but your pride didn’t let you back down. “It probably didn’t.”

He laughed—short, humorless. “You think I don’t know you?”

He took a step forward. “You don’t get to act like you hate me and then use me like that.”

Another. “You don’t get to lie to my face and let some guy put his hands on you like—”

“Like what?” Your voice cracked. “Like I’m fair game? Cause I am”

He was in front of you now. Chest heaving. Eyes dark and hungry and furious.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled.

You shoved him. Hard. “You don’t get to say that. Not when you left me in the dark. Not when you—”

He grabbed your wrists and pushed you back into the wall, breath hot against your face.

“You’re mine.”

You squirmed. “Let me go.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck you, Chan.”

“You already did,” he whispered. “But I’m not done.”

You shoved at him again, and this time he let you—barely staggering back, but his eyes never leaving yours.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole,” you snapped. “You don’t get to show up and act like I belong to you after leaving me in limbo for days, Chan. What the fuck do you even want from me?”

“Are you fucking serious right now? You clearly wanted space,” he hissed, “but I gave it to you and you ran straight into some random guy’s lap.”

“I only did that because you started acting weird! You wouldn’t talk, you wouldn’t even look at me—”

“I wouldn’t look at you?! I was trying to keep my fucking hands off you!”

Your mouth snapped shut.

His chest heaved, sweat glistening along his collarbones. “You think it was easy? Pretending that night didn’t change anything? I’ve been going insane.”

“You think I haven’t?” you shot back, voice trembling with rage. “I’ve basically been obsessed with you probably for months, Chan. I hated every girl you talked to, every time you left me on read, every time you acted like we were just friends—and then we finally crossed that line and you shut down.”

“I didn’t shut down,” he snarled. “I shut up. You didn’t want to talk about it. You wanted to act like nothing happened.”

“So I could protect myself!”

“No,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous now. “You wanted control.”

You stared at him. Stunned. Speechless.

“You started this whole fucking possessive game,” he continued, voice shaking now with emotion. “You couldn’t stand seeing me with other girls. You made scenes. You dragged me away like you owned me—and now that I feel the same fucking way, you can’t take it.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” He stepped forward again, finger pointed right at your chest. “You want me to chase you, to want you, but the second I act like I need you, you start fucking running.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

You slapped him.

Or at least—you tried.

He caught your wrist before your hand even landed.

His grip was hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to warn.

“Don’t,” he breathed.

You thrashed in his hold, and he stepped in close, using the force to spin you—bending you sharply over the back of the chair behind you.

You gasped, hands flying to brace yourself. “What the fu—”

“Shut up,” he growled into your ear, chest pressed to your back, his body caging you in. “You want to fight? Then fucking fight me. But don’t pretend this isn’t what you wanted.”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“You already said that,” he whispered, voice dark and fraying. “Now let me show you what it means.”

His hands were already on you, dragging up your dress like he didn’t care who saw, like he was stripping the lie off your body piece by piece. His breath was hot against your neck, his hips pressed hard against your ass, and his voice—low and venomous—melted right into your spine.

“Next time you grind on someone else,” he said, voice a threat and a promise, “you better be ready to crawl home.”

And then he snapped your panties to the side like they offended him.

The first swipe of his fingers between your legs dragged a broken moan from your throat.

“So wet,” he sneered. “Fucking knew it. You came out tonight wanting to be punished, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip hard, eyes squeezed shut, your hips involuntarily grinding back into his hand.

“Say it,” he ordered, rubbing slow circles over your clit like he had all the time in the world. “Say you wanted me to see you.”

“I didn’t,” you whispered.

He sank two fingers inside you without warning.

You gasped, lurching forward over the chair.

“Liar,” he hissed into your ear. “This pussy doesn’t lie. It knew I’d come for you.”

His free hand curled into your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arched and your chest was pressed against the cold leather. You were panting now, legs trembling.

“You lied to my face,” he growled. “You let him touch you. You wanted to piss me off, didn’t you?”

You whimpered when he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle.

“I—wanted to forget.”

“No, baby,” he said darkly, licking the shell of your ear. “You wanted to test me.”

He pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching your slick glisten under the dim light. He held them to your mouth.

“Suck.”

You hesitated.

His other hand smacked your ass, hard.

You gasped, and his fingers slipped past your lips.

You moaned around them like a fucking sinner.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, unzipping his jeans like he’d waited long enough. His cock slapped against your ass, already hard and heavy, already dripping.

You turned your head to speak—to beg, maybe, or curse him again—but the second he pushed inside, the words died in your throat.

“F-Fuck—Chan—”

He bottomed out in one brutal thrust, forcing a strangled cry from you.

“Yeah,” he growled, gripping your hips like a man possessed. “That’s it. That’s what you need, huh? You needed to be fucked stupid.”

You couldn’t answer.

He was already moving—deep, fast, merciless.

The chair creaked beneath you. Your moans turned into cries. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, like a plea, like a curse.

He slapped your ass again, grabbing it after like it belonged to him. “Look at you. My perfect little slut. Throwing a tantrum just so I’d ruin you.”

You clawed at the leather, your voice cracking. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he growled, fucking you harder, meaner. “You hate that you love this.”

You were soaked. Squelching wet. And his cock dragged against every sensitive inch of you like he was trying to mark the inside of your body.

“You gonna run after this too?” he bit out. “Or do I have to fuck you until you stay?”

“Keep going,” you gasped, head falling forward. “Please—just—don’t stop.”

His breath hitched. Just for a second. Something changed in him then—like all the rage had been swallowed by something even darker.

He leaned over your back, voice right in your ear.

“I won’t stop ‘til you can’t fucking walk.”

Then he did just that.

He bent you lower, fucked you deeper, ruined you so thoroughly you saw stars. Your thighs shook. Your voice went hoarse. He fucked you like he was mad at your soul.

And when you finally broke—when you came hard around his cock, sobbing his name into the leather—he didn’t let up. He chased his own release like it owed him blood, biting down on your shoulder as he emptied himself inside you.

He stayed there, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his temple onto your back.

Neither of you moved.

Because this? This wasn’t just sex. This was possession.

He didn’t pull away. Not when he came. Not when you sagged forward, limp and leaking, still braced over the back of the chair.

He didn’t move.

He stayed inside you—forehead resting between your shoulder blades, hands trembling where they clutched your hips. Still breathing you in like your skin was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Come here,” he whispered, eventually. “I’m not done.”

He didn’t say it like a threat this time.

He said it like a confession.

You let him guide you down to the floor. He didn’t rip your dress. He didn’t drag your body. He touched you with reverence now—laying you out flat, curling his big hand around your jaw like you were something he never thought he’d get to hold like this.

His eyes flicked down your body, dark with need but soft, too. Almost scared.

“I need you again,” he murmured, voice husky. “But not like before.”

You nodded, barely breathing. “Okay.”

His mouth met yours—slow, open, hot. His tongue licked into you like it missed you. Like it knew you.

And when he slid inside again, your body opened for him like you were made to take him. You moaned into the kiss, your hands curling around his shoulders, your legs spreading without thought.

It felt too good. Too deep. Too much.

His hips rolled, long and smooth, like he was trying to press his feelings into the walls of your body. Like he didn’t know how else to say it.

And then—his voice broke.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’ve ruined me.”

You blinked fast. The tightness in your chest suddenly unbearable.

“You were the one who started it,” you whispered.

“I know. And now I can’t breathe without you,” he said, thrusts picking up just enough to draw sharp moans from your throat. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t even look at you without losing my mind.”

You clutched at him. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because we’re best friends!” he groaned, fucking into you harder now, his emotions spilling through his thrusts. “Because I didn’t wanna fuck it up. But you—you drove me fucking insane.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist like you needed him to anchor you. His pace was messy now—frantic, like he couldn’t control it. Like he didn’t want to.

“You made me like this,” he breathed. “You made me need you. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t know it’d go this far—”

“But it did.” He grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head, his forehead against yours, breath ragged. “Now I can’t get out.”

You were already crying.

He didn’t stop.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he whispered, voice breaking. “Why do you have to be everything to me?”

Your sob escaped, loud and sudden.

He froze, eyes wide. “Hey—hey…”

“I’m okay,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, chest trembling. “I’m okay. I just—I love you.”

He choked. His whole body tensed above you.

You gasped when he started moving again—slow and deep and shaking.

“You love me?” he whispered like he didn’t believe it.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long it hurts.”

He fucked into you like that broke him. Like he’d been waiting years to hear it. He kissed you so hard you couldn’t breathe, hips rutting into yours with a need that felt like home and war all at once.

You came with your whole body.

Sobbing, shaking, clinging to him like if you let go, you’d die.

And he followed, groaning your name like it was a confession, like a vow.

He collapsed into your arms, heart pounding against yours, still buried deep inside.

You didn’t speak.

You just held each other, tears drying on hot skin, breath slowing.

For the first time—it wasn’t hate, It wasn’t lust, It was love, buried in the wreckage.

—

The air was thick with sweat and sex and silence.

Chan didn’t move. Not for a long time.

His body stayed curled around yours, one hand stroking your hip, the other tangled with your fingers above your head like he was scared to let go. His chest was still heaving, skin hot against yours.

But it was quiet now. And in that silence, there was no more hiding.

You turned your head, cheeks sticky with dried tears, eyes swollen.

“Chan…”

He looked down at you. His expression wrecked. Vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“You meant it?” he asked softly. “What you said?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. I meant it.”

He closed his eyes like it hurt. Like it healed him, too.

You traced a finger down his chest, voice small. “Did you?”

He opened his eyes again. “I don’t think there’s ever been a version of me that didn’t love you.”

Your throat closed up.

He leaned in, kissed the tip of your nose. The corner of your mouth. Your jaw. “I just didn’t know how to say it without losing you.”

You breathed him in. “And now?”

“Now I’ve already lost control,” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “And I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends.”

Your hand gripped his. “Then don’t.”

His eyes searched yours, desperate and soft all at once. “So what are we now?”

You swallowed, voice breaking. “Yours. If you want me.”

Chan let out the softest, most broken laugh. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He kissed you again—no lust, no pressure. Just quiet certainty.

And when he pulled you onto his chest, fingers drawing patterns across your back, it wasn’t about sex anymore. It was about belonging.

“Promise me we won’t run from this,” you whispered against his skin.

“I promise,” he said. “Even if it gets messy. Even if we fight again.”

You smiled faintly. “We definitely will.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “Because I’m yours too. Every feral, possessive, jealous inch of me.”

You exhaled like you hadn’t breathed in years.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But for the first time… you both wanted to find out—together.

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

Authors note: hi guys, so i extended the story a little more cos i couldn’t get enough of them and i felt part one was a bit unfinished.

If you enjoyed this, please leave comments and a like, i always look out for feedback! Thanks for reading and following! Love you guys!

[tellingtell5]

Poor Wayfaring stranger: 《Remmick, sinners x reader 》

Remmick x femreader

A/N: Thank you for the support on the first part—I honestly didn’t expect it. Here’s what’s been haunting my mind ever since I wrote it. Hope you enjoy!

Just a hungry greedy soul crossing paths with another.

The parting glass: part 2. (part 1)

Angst. Lost.

You heard your father’s voice as if it were coming from another room—muffled, dulled, like grief had taken up permanent residence in his throat.

“This is my final word, Brady.”

You wondered if it would always be like this now—his body broken in ways that wouldn’t show on the surface. Wounds he couldn’t stitch shut.

“You need to understand”, voice cracking like something ancient. “He was my only son. If only we could say goodbye, just once more—”

“She’s not going to sing again.”

That landed with the weight of a final verdict. No room for argument. Not even from the person whose name still hung unspoken in the room.

You held your breath as silence descended. You didn’t want to be noticed. You just wanted to listen. As if by hearing their words, you might learn what would become of you. What the gods of your fate had decided behind closed doors. The air was thick, suffocating. You almost gasped for breath. Neither of them spoke. They were measuring each other in that heavy quiet.

“There are whispers, you know that?”

You shifted a little closer to the door, trying not to put your full weight on the wood, afraid it might creak. The man’s voice dropped into a hush—low and grave, like even he feared what he was saying might be true. “They say Maud was there, when she sang.”

“Don’t you dare say my mother’s name.”

You flinched. Your father’s fury came like a blade, and you felt it in your chest—tight and unbearable. The grief didn’t go away. You’d have to learn to carry it. To live with the way it twisted inside you, threatening to turn your own body against you whenever it was stirred.

You thought you’d mourned once already, when you were small and your mother left too soon. But that sorrow had been different. Maybe you were too young back then to understand. Your grandmother had stepped in, taken her place, filled in the gaps with quiet resilience.

You didn’t know when your feet had started moving. Lately it happened more and more—you losing control of your own limbs. Since the funeral, you’d begun sleepwalking, rising in the night like some lost specter. Your father no longer slept so he’d stop you each time you drifted toward the front door, eyes wide open but soul elsewhere. Sometimes, he caught you just in time. Other nights, he found you already standing in the doorway, staring into the dark like you were waiting for something.

He gave you a little bell to tie around your ankle. To hear you coming. To stop you.

You never remembered anything when you woke. Just a strange pressure at your temples, and a restless current running under your skin. Mornings were the worst. Your blood simmered like it didn’t belong in your veins. Your heart raced as if trying to pump more than your body needed.

When you reached the room, both men looked at you—startled, almost guilty.

You wanted to speak. To confess. To tell that grieving father that it was your fault. That, broken by pain and despair, you had done something forbidden. Something you never believed would have consequences until it did.

Would he think you were mad? Maybe he'd think your song was a delusion meant to bring his son back. And maybe that would make him more willing to believe. But what would he do when you told him that you were also the reason the town was cursed now?

Since the arrival of that stranger—his words still echoing in your head—every fourth night brought another death. Always the same: bodies drained, some torn apart. People formed search parties, desperate to catch the beast they were sure stalked the night. A curfew was enforced. No one left their homes after sundown.

And you hadn’t told them the truth. That the wolf they hunted wore the skin of a man. That your grandmother’s funeral had damned them all. That your disobedience had summoned the Devil himself.

The man’s eyes were hollow. You fought the instinct to step back. But something changed when he looked at you. A flicker of understanding. Pain mirrored yours.

You knew exactly who his son had been. You weren’t close, but you’d gone to school together. You recognized the curve of his brow, the shape of his mouth. That guilt sat heavy on your chest.

They said he left home before sunrise, the moon still high. He was on his way to work when something found him, tore out his throat. You’d heard they struggled to piece him back together for the burial.

“I’ll do it,” you said. Because you owed him. Because you needed to give something back.

Your father turned toward you like he'd been struck. His face tightened in horror.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

You saw something shift in his expression. Maybe he understood. You hadn’t spoken of it, but you both had come to the same conclusion. Your grandmother hadn’t told ghost stories just to scare children. She had believed every word. And your family had realized too late.

Brady wrapped his arms around you then—sobbing like a man who'd forgotten how. You didn’t know how to comfort him, only that your father watched it all in silent dread.

You almost told him the truth. That this wasn’t just about bringing the boy back, not really. That you had a plan. But instead, you said nothing, only offered him a broken apology through your eyes.

You asked for permission to sing at the wake—at night, not during the funeral. The family had a special pass to be out past curfew. You needed the twilight. Needed that thin veil between light and dark. You claimed your gift worked best at dusk. That the dead listened more clearly when the sun slipped away.

The truth? You had no idea what you were doing. But neither did they.

You excused yourself to prepare. To choose a song. One that might reach him. One that might call him back.

In your grandmother’s room, you counted floorboards, found the loose one you’d discovered weeks ago. Beneath it: journals. Pages and pages of secrets, halted the day she gave birth to her first child.

You picked the one that had sparked your plan. Fingers trembling, you traced the faded ink. The paper was stiff with old tears. You read, your breath shallow:

Remmick grows hungrier by the day. A week’s blood no longer satisfies him. I went to the village witch—we’ve just arrived—and she had no answer. I fear the pact cannot be undone, and I am running out of time. He feeds more often now, though he promised to let me rest. My blood makes him ravenous, not sated.

He doesn’t see how the exhaustion is severing my connection to the ancestors. Fewer come when I sing. Perhaps they’ve turned from me, ashamed I’ve made a deal with a monster. But what choice did I have? I had to stop the killing. Even if it meant losing everyone I loved.

At least they’re safe—from him. From what I’ve become. I write this to bleed the truth out of me. I think he reads me through my blood. I fear he knows I’m looking for a way to destroy him. But here, in these strange lands, no one truly knows what a vampire is.

If I manage to kill him, I won’t use my gift again. I’ll miss my mother’s voice and the warmth of my brother’s love. But I won’t damn anyone else. I won’t tie more souls to this song, this curse that’s brought as much sorrow as joy.

You swallowed hard, trying to dissolve the knot of fear and grief tightening in your throat. Your blood had stirred the moment you read his name—that demon you'd called without knowing. You would finish what your grandmother had begun. You hadn’t only inherited her eyes, but also a gift so dangerous it could summon death itself to your doorstep.

At dusk, you said goodbye to your father. It felt final, though you had no intention of dying that day. Still, it was as if you were heading to your own funeral—the wake of your soul. Maybe it no longer even belonged to you.

When you arrived, every eye turned to you. You couldn’t tell if it was awe or fear. Maybe both. You were sure some of them blamed you, though they wouldn’t dare say it aloud. Not that they tried to stop you—grief had worn them thin, desperate to reach their lost ones, no matter the price. What did a goodbye cost? Would they call you a witch once they'd had their final words?

You refused to look at the boy's body as you took your place near the wooden box. Clearing your throat, you felt the room hold its breath. But you didn’t sing at once. Just like at your grandmother’s funeral, you started with a whisper—a shapeless hum meant to prepare the air for what was coming.

The atmosphere thickened, and the hum you once craved now grated against your skin.

I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger

Traveling through this world below

There is no sickness, no toil, no danger

In that bright land to which I go

I'm going there to see my father

And all my loved ones who've gone on

You had found that song alongside the one you sang the day you chose defiance. A sudden thought lit up in you like lightning—how many funerals had your grandmother sung through? Every song she passed down was a farewell.

I'm just going over Jordan

I'm just going over home

You sang for the family, weeping over a boy who never got the chance to grow up. You conjured memories of the days you'd played together—how you ran until your ribs ached from laughter. And before you realized, you too were crying, your voice unraveling into a raw, aching lament.

I know dark clouds will gather 'round me

I know my way is hard and steep

But beauteous fields arise before me

Where God's redeemed, their vigils keep

I'm going there to see my mother

She said she'd meet me when I come

That’s when you felt it—another presence. One that didn’t belong. The crying faded into soft murmurs, quiet farewells meant to ease the path of the departing. You kept singing, though your voice trembled. You wanted to apologize. To make him understand you were trying to fix things. Then pain bloomed in your chest—gratitude so sharp it bent you over. Somehow, you knew the Brady boy had forgiven you. He was the one comforting you.

You ended the song with the same soft murmur you had begun with, and others joined in—a final attempt to wish him safe passage.

When you opened your eyes, your breath came in ragged gasps. Your gaze locked with that of one of the older women in the crowd. She didn’t look away. Her eyes shimmered, and her lips formed a word you didn’t know. Banshee, you thought.

You apologized for not staying longer. My father will be worried, you told them, though you had no real plans to go home.

You followed the familiar path from the Bradys’ house to the meadow where you used to sing in secret during spring afternoons, the wind stealing away your words.

That’s where you found him—waiting. He wore the dusk like a second skin, his silhouette outlined against the fading light. You wanted to run when a glint of crimson caught your eye. He was watching you. You ordered your heart to stop, to settle, to stop trying to break your ribs with each frantic beat—but it didn’t listen.

When you reached him, he looked calm. Hands tucked into his pockets, the same smile he'd worn on your doorstep still curved his lips.

“Was wonderin’ how long it’d take ye t’break,” he said, the low rumble of his voice thick with that unmistakable Irish lilt. It vibrated straight through you, like it knew the way to your bones.

“What do you want from me, Remmick?” you asked.

You wanted it to come out firm, defiant—but it escaped more like a plea. A yearning you hadn’t meant to reveal. His eyebrows softened at the sound of his name on your lips, and you swore something in his stance shifted. Was he shaking? No—he was perfectly still.

He stepped closer, slow, testing, like dipping his toes before plunging into deep water. When you didn’t move, he stopped just shy of you—your shoes nearly touching.

His scent hit you like a wave. Your skin prickled, and something deep inside cracked open, releasing a hunger you didn’t know you carried.

“I want it all.” His hand lifted, reaching for your face—but it paused, trembling in midair. You were startled by the pull, that primal tug urging you to lean forward and close the distance.

“I came to…” Your thoughts scattered, his eyes pulling you under. Crimson gleamed in their depths and you had to breathe, hard, to keep from drowning in the sensation. “I want to make a deal.”

That grin spread wide again—feral this time. He didn’t bother to hide his teeth this time. You couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise.

Why did it feel so natural to offer him your soul? To give him everything? You told yourself it was to end the killing, to quiet the monster smiling inches away. But what if that was just an excuse? You remembered all those nights you’d woken unknowingly, waiting—hoping—for him to come.

“And what have ye got t’offer, darlin’?”

“My voice.” It broke as you said it, and he let out a low, amused sound—almost a laugh.

This time, he didn’t hesitate. His hand reached for you again, and his fingertip traced the base of your throat. The smile vanished. His mouth parted in awe, jaw slack, as if you were something holy. He nodded slowly to himself, lost in thought. You had to stiffen your spine to keep from shivering under his touch.

“And my blood,” you whispered.

At that, his eyes snapped to yours with inhuman speed. His pupils blown wide, brows drawn together, intense.

“Tha’ already belongs t’me.” The words came rough, like smoke and heat. You felt them in your gut.

The caress became a grip—his hand encircled your throat, firm, not cruel. Just enough to claim.

You remembered your grandmother’s faded pages. A deal. She had already offered him her blood—the same blood that now ran in your veins, caught beneath his fingers.

You swallowed, and your throat moved against his palm. The pressure increased, a strangled sound escaped him.

“Tell me, lass… what is it ye’re after, mm?”

His face had softened again, but not his grip. You lifted your hand, gently wrapping your fingers around his wrist, as if searching for some scrap of humanity beneath centuries of monstrous intent.

"Leave my people alone. No more deaths. I'll sing for you. I’ll sing your songs—just stop tearing them apart."

You don’t know why you said it like that. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was a memory trying to claw its way to the surface. But it didn’t matter—he didn’t seem to understand a word. Remmick tilted his head, eyes narrowing like you’d just spoken in tongues.

"Yer people?" His voice was slow, heavy with that deep Irish rasp, like smoke curling through ancient stone. "Do ya even know what ya are, lass?"

Now you’re the one confused. You feel your brow wrinkle, your heart hammering against your ribs in that hollow way that only comes when the truth starts to feel foreign. There’s a whisper of an idea at the edge of your thoughts, half-formed, shifting like fog.

And then he hums—a low, guttural sound in his chest that drags you back to him. He’s watching you now, with a strange, wounded softness that doesn’t belong on a creature like him. Pity, almost. For you.

"Maud kept too many secrets," he murmurs. "Poor thing."

His hand lifts, calloused fingers cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that borders on reverence. He wipes away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling, the pads of his thumbs soft, patient, almost like he’s savorin’ the salt of you.

"Yer granny made a deal with the Devil, and I don’t mean meself. Nah, I was just an afterthought—a mild headache, if ya will. But her grief... it led her to trade her soul, just for a whisper of reunion. And you, m’love... yer what was left behind. The collateral."

Your confusion cracks wide open, heat crawling beneath your skin like fire beneath ice. You open your mouth to speak, but he hushes you with a shudder of sound that coils low in your gut, calming you against your will.

"Yer a song born of sorrow. A creature of mourning," he whispers, and his voice dips—dark velvet, sinful. His thumbs trace over your lips, slow, deliberate. "A banshee."

You’ve heard the old stories—women who keened for the dying, harbingers of grief. But you hadn’t wept for anyone. You had screamed. You had howled. You had fought. And still… something about his words settles too easily inside you.

"I’ll take yer offer," he says at last, voice so close now it grazes your skin like a prayer. "Yer voice, for their lives. I won’t touch another one of yer precious mortals. But yer blood, mo chroí... that was always mine. I’ve come to claim what’s owed."

He leans in, so close you can feel the shape of his smirk before you see it. You tilt your head without thinking, offering. And he chuckles, low and secret, like he’s just unwrapped something meant only for him.

"I never liked touchin’ Maud, y’know. She reeked of hunger—not the good kind." His breath brushes your jaw. "Never once sank me teeth into her. Just had her fill jars for me. But you—"

His voice drops, almost reverent, and his mouth traces the shell of your ear. His fangs graze your skin—sharp, cruel, perfect—and your breath hitches.

"Yer soul begs me to tear ya apart, doesn’t it, pet? Begs me to devour ya whole."

You want to deny it. You should. But no sound escapes. Instead, you tilt your neck further, exposing the soft line of your throat. He growls low, the sound so intimate it coils inside you.

"Do ya know how long I’ve waited for this?" His nose drags up your neck, slow, almost obscene. "I’ve been thirstin’, starvin’—and nothin’ satisfies."

You shiver when his fingers slide into your hair, pulling it gently aside. A sound escapes you—deep, desperate—when his lips meet the throb of your pulse.

"I’ve felt nothin’ since her voice faded from me ears, since her blood stopped callin’. Everythin’ tastes like ash, darlin’."

He drags his tongue over your skin, lazy, languid. Not a kiss—just a claim. You close your eyes, and your knees weaken.

Then he pauses.

"Such a curious creature..." His breath teases your collarbone, and he smiles against your throat. "Don’t hide those sounds from me, mo chroí. Let them loose. Yer voice is too rare to smother."

His fingers tilt your chin, and your mouth parts with a gasp. He slips his thumb across your lip. You almost kiss it—almost—but then another sound escapes you, raw and feral, and he shudders.

"That’s it."

"Are you going to destroy me?" The words break from you, shaky—not with fear, but want.

He hums again, like you amuse him. His mouth brushes the hollow beneath your ear.

"Destroy ya? Nah," he breathes, in that thick Irish rasp. "I’m gonna ruin ya. But not the way yer thinkin’. I need ya alive, love. Wouldn’t do me much good if ya had a hole in yer throat, now would it?"

Then, sharp—his teeth graze your skin, and your knees nearly give. Your hands move without asking permission—one tangled in his hair, the other pressed to his back, pulling him closer. He groans, deep and hungry, and finally—finally—his fangs pierce.

It’s barely a scratch, but it’s enough. Blood beads and rises. Before it can cool in the night air, his lips seal over it, drawing you into his hunger with a sound so guttural it steals the ground from beneath your feet.

You gasp, fingers twisting in his hair as warmth pools low in your belly. It isn’t pain. It isn’t fear. It’s something else. Something more dangerous.

Then panic sears through you, cutting through the haze. You pull at him, suddenly desperate to stop, but he misreads it—thinks it’s pleasure—and sinks deeper into you.

When he finally pulls back, his mouth is stained red, lips slick with your blood, and for a moment—just one brief, heart-stopping moment—you forget how to breathe.

He tilts his head to the moonlight, the silver glow catching on his jaw, glinting in the wet curve of his mouth. His face is lit with something unholy, yes—but it’s more than that. It’s divine. He looks like a ruined angel, something the heavens regret banishing, something too glorious to be forgotten by time.

You can only stare.

He drinks slowly, licking the blood from his lips as if it were the finest wine. Every flick of his tongue feels like a sin you’re complicit in. He savors it—savors you—with a quiet, obscene delight that makes your insides twist.

And still, all you can think about is sinking your own teeth into him.

Your mouth parts. Not to speak. Just to feel the air between you. To taste him on your own lips. Your fingers ache to touch him, not gently, but with hunger. To rake through his hair. To feel the press of him, the weight, the warmth. To see if his blood would taste like the fire you feel now blooming behind your ribs.

"Smart girl," he murmurs, licking a stray drop from your neck, the words a caress. "Knew ya had some bite."

Then, without warning, he yanks you against him. No space. No breath. His claws lift your chin, and you see the monster behind the man. Fangs bared. Heat on your lips. His breath, like smoke and sin.

"Next time ya try to kill me, sweetheart," he whispers, voice like cracked velvet, "make sure yer little scraps of knowledge are worth a damn."

It hadn’t worked. Not even a little. Your grandmother’s journals said verbena would slow him, poison him—had let her escape. You’d filled yourself with it for weeks. Had hoped your blood would be lethal.

That’s why you were scared. Because now... you don’t want him gone.

"Remember this, mo chroí. The Devil knows more ‘cause he’s old—not ‘cause he’s damned. No more verbena, aye? Sours yer taste. And we don’t want that, now do we?"

He laps at your mouth in a single obscene stroke—quick, hot—and you open to him before you can stop yourself.

He grins. Pleased.

"We’ll have to work on that greedy nature of yers."

[leviraaaaaa]

All that's left.

“I know you’re there.”

Levi's voice cut through the stillness, startling you. You’d been watching him from the side of the wreckage, watching as the ghosts of your comrades appeared for one last time, one last salute. One last declaration of all they dedicated. One last goodbye. They had met your gaze too, shooting a small sad smile and you knew what it meant.

You two were all that's left. The last one's standing.

You stayed out of his sight even after they disappeared, giving him the privacy to mourn. God knows he needed it. You didn’t think he had noticed your presence, but then again, who were you trying to fool? His extraordinary instincts were never to be underestimated.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself to stand straight and stumbled forward, trying not to put too much weight on the ankle you had injured. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes. Ever resilient, ever strong, the cracks were so slight, just barely there. But you knew. You could always tell.

“Hi.” You mumbled. He stared at you as you dragged yourself in front of him.

“Nice of you to make it out alive.” He said.

“Who would’ve thought?” You shrugged.

“You made an ugly titan by the way.”

“I’m sure you would’ve looked charming.”

“Bet.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. The conversation was so unbelievably normal, it was surreal. Like nothing ever happened. Here, amid the ruins of everything, all the corpses, smoke, blood and destruction—here you were, back to how it always was. Almost as if, if you concentrated hard enough, all of it would go away and you’d find you and him back in the soggy cafeteria of the scout headquarters, back to bantering with him and arguing about silly little things that don't really deserve arguments but it’s you and Levi so of course it’d end up an argument.

You felt so old suddenly.

How come you ended up here? In this way?

And Levi looked so tired, you could cry. Hasn’t he given enough? Doesn’t he get to rest now?

“Does that..” You glanced down at his leg, the one he had spread out in front of him. It was clear it was beyond repair. The fabric of his pants were torn at the knee, from where it was crushed between the titan’s jaw, a bloody, mangled mess. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really, no.” His eyes followed your gaze. “Numbed a while ago. Can’t feel shit really.”

You sighed. "Not very humanity's strongest anymore, huh?"

Levi raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" He said. "Careful, I could still kick your ass."

"I'm sure."

You grinned. Then went ahead and dropped yourself beside him. He frowned.

“Shouldn’t we be getting up?” He said. “Why are you getting comfortable?”

“Why not?” You muttered, pulling your legs upto your chest, hugging them. “What’s it matter what we do or not? Armin’s the hot shit now, let him deal with everything.” Your head throbbed as you buried them in your knees. "We're too fucking old now anyways,"

He didn’t argue, but he made no attempt to get up either. If anything, he looked more relaxed. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to spend the rest of your life here. After all, you were so tired, and you were sure he was too. This was as good as anywhere else would be.

Because there’s no home to return to anymore.

“Do you think there’s anything left of Hange to bury?” He suddenly said.

You shuddered. What do you answer to that?

Your head pounded so hard, you couldn’t really think. Far away, somewhere in the distance, you could hear someone yelling at another someone, but you couldn’t bother to pay attention to the words. Armin and the others would figure something out surely.

You were exhausted.

“Say, Levi.” You said tiredly, nudging him slightly.

“What?”

“Wanna get married?”

Levi almost choked, he was suddenly all uptight, stiff as a board as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“What the fuck?” He asked, looking mildly horrified. “Are you seriously gonna make jokes here? Here?”

“Not joking.”

You lifted up your head, tilting it to look at him. It was hard to tell whether he was annoyed or flustered. Maybe both. "Not joking at all," You sighed. You’re not sure where the sudden boldness came from, but this is as good a time as any. Might as well. “You’re right. It’s a bad time to make jokes. So I’m dead serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.” You nodded, turning your expression very serious.

“You’re weird as fuck.” He muttered out after several failed attempts to speak. The tips of his ears turned red, red as it always did whenever you used to jokingly suggest that he should date you. Except you weren’t really joking anymore. In fact, you haven’t been joking for a long, long time.

“I mean..” You closed your eyes. You were too tired to even feel embarrassed. “We’re the only ones left. Me and you. You’re all I have left, Levi. So, why not?”

He gasped at you for a long moment. Then he started shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

“You’re just realizing that?”

“No.” He muttered. “You’re insane. And it’s rubbing off on me.”

He paused for a long time, his one good eye searching your intensely, as if he was considering something. And finally, he made up his mind.

“You’re insane. And I’m no fucking different.” He sighed. “I must’ve hit my head pretty damn hard because I’m actually considering this shit.”

You grinned. “Go on, say it. You like me.”

“Wrong. I tolerate you.”

“Good enough. You don’t tolerate a lot of people, so I’ll take it as I'm special.”

He sighed, turning away, hoping that’s enough to hide his heart from you. You were special to him, always. But you didn’t need to know that. He didn’t want you to know that. He didn’t know how to let you know that.

“Can you believe us?” He scoffed instead. “We’re practically sitting in a graveyard. Half the world’s ruined but then there’s us.”

“That’s fine. Let’s keep being us. The world can go fuck itself. Meanwhile, we can—”

“Do not finish that sentence.” He glared.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. A deep, aching laugh that left you gasping for air and brought tears to your eyes. And for the briefest moment, Levi’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile.

“We’re insane.” You admitted, still breathless. With that, you pushed yourself up, stumbling a little before you found your balance. You reached out your hand to Levi, who took it without question.

“Come on, Lev.” You pulled him up, letting him wrap an arm around you to brace himself. “Let’s go home.”

You were right, Levi thinks as he limped with you, letting you support him. It was nice to finally let himself lean on someone.

You two are the only ones left.

You’re all he has now.

The world has taken enough from him. He’s so tired of letting go.

And he’d be damned if he let you go too.

[emoisthenewemu]

Homie Hopper! Pt.2

Bonus: Senior Year!

College MHA boys x F! Reader

Pt.1 here! Pt 3 Here

In which after getting your little heart broken, you get passed around your local University’s hottest friend group! Everyone needs those slutty College years!

Cw: SMUT, problematic behavior, p in v, lots of different kinks n stuff, i went overboard a bit on Todorokis and Shinsos, sub! Shinso, name calling, reader has female anatomy, reader essentially gets passed around

A/N just wanna say idk why shinso has to be the villain it just felt right😞sorry bae ily

Shoto Todoroki as The Pretty Boy!

-Shoto Todoroki, who is friends with the whole group you ran through last year (and still hook up with on occasion) but doesn’t come around much

-Shoto Todoroki who you had no idea lived right around the corner from you-in a much nicer neighborhood with his brothers

-You run into him on a late night run to the convenience store, in an oversized hoodie with bling on it, it catches his eye as he peruses the aisle next to you

-Shoto Todoroki, who makes you so nervous you cannot even make eye contact as he says a friendly hello to you. You know each other and would occasionally bum off one another’s notes after a missed class. He’s the Pretty Boy and everyone knows it, himself included.

-He thinks it’s cute to watch you squirm. He’s always made you nervous, it was obvious. He likes the way you fiddle with your necklace, his eyes darting down to the unzipped part of your hoodie that shows cleavage.

“I like your sweater” He compliments.

“Oh thanks! It’s super cute, right? I just bought it!” You exclaim excitedly.

“Mhm super cute” He nods nonchalantly and simply waves goodbye, leaving you all but twirling your hair alone in the aisle.

-He never had to try hard with girls, he probably could have just asked you that first night to come home with him and you most likely would have said yes. But he likes the chase, watching your face get hot and eyes flick down to his grey sweatpants. He knows what he is doing.

- So he keeps it up a little longer, choosing to subtly flirt with you on these late night run-ins. His compression shirts get tighter, sweats hanging looser on his hips.

And you, well your shorts get even shorter and sweaters begin to grow more unzipped.

-Shoto Todoroki, who finally asks if you want to head back to his place with him to ‘watch a movie’. You agree of course, and he keeps an arm wrapped around your waist the whole walk home making small talk about school of all things. If only you knew the perverse images flashing in his head.

You walk past his two hot older brothers-who are sitting on the couch watching some action movie and smoking a blunt. You wave politely and Shoto rolls his eyes at the way they do not even attempt to conceal the way they are checking you out.

Oh well, he’ll just have to fuck you loud enough for both of them to hear.

-Shoto, who always gets what he wants. You’re on top of him, kissing his neck and chest, jerking him beneath his sweats as he grips your ass-smacking it occasionally. “So impatient” He tsks as you roll his sweats down.

“Cant wait for this dick, can you?”

You shake your head no and he grabs you by the hair, pulling you close for a sinful kiss. “Use your words”

“Want you to fuck me….you’re so hot” You whine and he kisses you again, biting at your lower lip.

“Good girl”

-Shoto Todoroki, who has your legs folded in such a way that it hurts. Your ankles and wrists bound by his hand as he pounds into you relentlessly.

Of course he has good dick, he’s perfect, even his dick is pretty!

-He is groaning and cursing on top of you, free hand going to choke you and pinch your nipples.

“Mm, Shoto!”

“Yeah say my fucking name” The bed is creaking and slamming against the wall, if you weren’t so fucked out you would worry about his brothers being able to hear. But obviously he doesn’t care about that.

“Shoto!” You whine, squealing when he snaps! his hips so meanly. It hits that spongy spot that makes your tummy feel funny. “Too much, too much!”

The two of you had established a safe word, icyhot. And you had yet to mutter it so he ignores your complaints, slamming into you like he would die without your pussy.

-“Stop whining” He finally releases your wrists, pushing your ankles all the way to your ears as his strokes try to find their own rhythm. This position has you squeezing him so tight it’s hard to move sometimes. “You wanted this shit, huh? Always staring at me in class”

You squeal, his calm voice grounds you in a way. Even if his words are filthy. “Wearing those slutty little clothes to the store. You walk around like that?”

“Just wanted you t’look at me” You whine, his eyes go down to his cock disappearing into your folds. He’s so deep and you’re so wet, your slick almost suctions to his thighs-leaving a sloshing noise every time he pulls his hips back.

-“M’fucking looking” He nods, jaw agape and panting like a fucking dog. “Can’t take my eyes off this slutty pussy”

“Gonna watch you cum on this dick” He speaks determinedly, eyes glazed over with something feral as his thumb goes to rub your clit. “Know you want to”

-“Yesyesyes!” You cry out, throwing your head back and gripping the sheets. The sounds are downright pornographic-his own grunting and the occasional moan mixed in with the wet noises from your sloppy pussy.

He’s close, and you are too.

-His thumb begins moving faster and you’re starting to shake. He watches your stomach quiver, forcing your legs down even though they try to break free of his grip. You’re certain there will be bruises left over tomorrow with the way he holds onto you.

-“Cumming Shoto!” His eyes never leave the way your release comes spilling out, onto his thighs and stomach. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, watching you come undone before his very eyes.

He doesn’t even realize he forgot to put a condom on, now actively shooting ropes inside of you-he can’t remember the last time he came this much.

“Don’t worry, m’on the pill” You mutter, lazy eyes fluttered closed as he softly thrusts into you.

His heart drops, what a shame.

-Shoto Todoroki, who misses you when he moves away. He always hearts your stories and slides up on your posts and promises to come and see you. But he never does.

Hitoshi Shinso as The Shitty Ex!

-Hitoshi Shinso, your ex boyfriend who comes knocking (banging) at your door one night. He’s on his knees spewing bullshit about how the time apart made him realize how much he needs you.

It only took sleeping with half of the girls at his College to understand that.

-But he regrets it! He feels so stupid and terrible so ‘pleasepleaseplease take me back! Im sorry!’

“These other girls could never love me the way you do!”

-You laugh right in his face, arms crossed as you look down in disgust. “Are you high?”

“Whatthefuck no!” He hides his face in his hands with a big sigh. He looks…..pathetic. Eyes baggier than usual, messy purple hair as he finally gives up on the kneeling and sits back against the wall. Pulling out his vape, he hits it, all the while looking you in the eye. “I just miss you”

You roll your eyes, sitting down right next to him and snatching the puff into your hands. “Hitoshi…I think you’re just lonely”

He stays quiet as he thinks of what to say. It seems all words are lost on him. “I would do anything”

“Anything?”

-For some terrible, sick reason seeing him so whiny does something to you.

You suppose you have Denki to thank for what happens next.

-Hitoshi Shinso, whose whole body twitches when you deny his release for the second time. He’s whining, hips bucking up into your touch as you jerk him lazily, hand barely wrapped around his cock.

“Say it!”

“No!” He shakes his head furiously side-to-side, ears and chest turning red with how flushed he is. His chest heaves up and down.

“Then you don’t get to cum” You let go of him and his hand immediately to shoots out to grab yours, pulling it right back to the place he needs you the most.

“M’sorry” He whimpers, eyes scrunching shut as he imagines you giving him what he wants. How fat his load would be, you would be so pleased with how much he has built up for you! He feels so embarrassed and ashamed, it’s all so dirty. The worst part of it all is how fucking hard he is.

“I’m sorry! Been so bad! Soso bad-fuck!” He shudders when you grip him tight, but that’s just it. You do nothing else, causing him to take matters into his own hands.

He starts fucking your hand, so needy and sloppily as he moans and groans about how bad he’s been. “I’m a bad boyfriend! I’ve been so bad, need you t’punish me!”

oh. You didn’t tell him to say all that.

- Hitoshi Shinso, who cums on the spot with the loudest groan you have ever heard in your life when you slap him across the face. It wasn’t even hard or anything, he just liked it way too much.

-Hitoshi Shinso who does not shut up when you start riding him-nails raking down his chest. You’re honestly annoyed because you still hate him! You just wanted to use him the way he used you!

“Shut upp” You groan, cupping his mouth as you try and tune out his words. The moans are hot, his yapping not so much. “Never said you could talk”

Holy shit he had no idea he would ever be into something like this. Your words make his eyes roll back, gripping onto your hips like he might lose you as he beings to fuck you back.

“Fuckk!” You cry when he pistons his hip in tandem with yours-allowing himself even deeper inside you, reaching all the way into your special spot.

-You throw your head back, so lost in the feeling of trying to meet each other’s movements that you take a hand off his mouth. Your hips rolling sensually over his, an unmistakable sloshing sound forming between the two of you.

“Pussy’s so good. Missed it so so much, mygoddd” He rests a head on your tummy, his lower half stuttering and twitching in an attempt to get more of you. “Loveyouloveyoulo-“

“I said shut the fuck upp” You stop, looking into his wimpy eyes that are so full of emotion. He keeps fucking you, but you grab his face to make him look at you. “You want me to gag you?”

You honestly meant it as more of a warning. But the way he frantically nods yes tells you everything you need to know.

-Hitoshi Shinso, whose whole body trembles when you grab the pair of panties that had previously been discarded and stuff them in his mouth. The whites of his eyes are the only thing you can see in between tufts of sweaty hair. It doesn’t stop the noise of course. If anything he becomes even louder than before.

At least he’s not talking.

-“Mmmm yes….much better” You coo, hips moving up and down so fast you can hardly think. You are soo glad your roommates are out of town.

Mostly because they would be so pissed that you’re fucking your ex!

-Hitoshi Shinso, whose moans and whines get louder the closer he is to finishing. His muscular body is drenched in sweat-abs and chest messy with his cum.

His arms absentmindedly wrap around your waist, thrusting up into your pussy as he chases his release. And a rough tug of his hair when he hits a certain spot deep inside is enough to make him finish again.

-Hitoshi Shinso, who is an absolute mess-his body feels so weak and hot. Sweat covers him entirely, lungs gasping for air as you slowly ride him. For a moment you think he might pass out with how exhausted he looks.

Taking the panties out of his mouth, you push some of his hair out of his face. He leans into your gentle touch. “You okay?”

“Yeah” A breathless whisper is all he can get out as you both catch your breath. And then he kisses you, so passionately and full of want that your teeth knock together for a second.

His hands slide their way down to your hips, guiding you to slowly move up and down. You whine at the ‘draaag’ of his thick cock inside your walls. Mouth open as you look down and listen to the lewd noises. Even worse is his cum dripping out of you-making a mess.

“Use me”

-Hitoshi kisses you again. “Use me to make you cum please, please. Wanna watch you do it”

- You do what you’re told, using him until you’ve cum twice and his body is limp, sprawled out across the mattress.

That is until you throw his clothes at him and tell him to get the hell out of your apartment.

-Hitoshi Shinso, who for some reason is surprised you are making him leave so soon. He mentions something about cuddling but you shut that down completely. Walking out into the hallway-he just has to ask.

“Where the hell’d you learn all that?”

- You giggle in response but the smile is wiped right off your face when you spot your favorite friend group rounding the corner!

“Toshi’ whatsup man!” Denki is the first to say hello, dapping him up with a sly smile. “S’been a while”

Shinso is still looking at you, he doesn’t understand why you look so scared.

“Sub bro” Sero daps him up in between bites of whatever snack he got at the store.

The boys look at you. You look at them, you look at Shinso like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment you forgot they all went to the same High School.

And Kirishima, who is usually quite friendly only nods and passes by your ex without a second glance back. This surprises Hitoshi.

And Bakugo, who was never very nice to begin with does not even look at the man you use to date-only you with his perpetual mad face, he makes a point of stretching his body uncomfortably to get by him without touching your ex.

And Shinso watches the way they all say hi to you, the lingering touches, the change in their voices as they greet you. He certainly notices when Denki and Sero (being the messy bitches they are) give you a kiss on the cheek before entering their friends’ apartment. Kirishima gives you a half hug, looking back at Shinso with an unreadable expression on his face.

-Although unsurprisingly Bakugo decides to be the pettiest, hugging you tight. “You good?” He whispers in your ear.

And you nod, assuring that your ex was just on his way out and you’ll call your neighbor should any problems arise. He accepts that answer.

-Katsuki Bakugo bids you farewell with a slap on the ass, right in front of your ex boyfriend’s eyes. You don’t miss the evil smirk on his face as he closes the door, leaving you with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth.

“You fucking kidding me?! You fucked him?” Your ex boyfriend looks so pissed and also a bit like he might cry. “And Kirishima! Why the fuck was he looking at me like that?! You fuck him too?!”

Your silence is the only answer he needs but as he now stomps down the hall the wheels in his head turn. The whole encounter was so weird and awkward that it makes him think. And the more he thinks, the more afraid he is to accept the truth. Hitting the button to the elevator, he looks back at you for the final time in his life.

“You fucked all of them, didn’t you?”

-Hitoshi Shinso, who cries on the drive home.

And last but not least!

Izuku Midoriya as The Unexpected Freak!

-Izuku Midoriya who is the smartest guy you know! The two of you had a few classes over the years and he carried you through quite a few of them. You always thanked him with coffee and sweet treats though so he never minded!

He’s such a cutie patootie! Although the two of you don’t see much of each other anymore seeing as he’s busy trying to complete his double major. You heard that he also does volunteer work on the weekends with kids and the elderly! How sweet is that?

-Izuku Midoriya, who does not hesitate to help you out when you ask him to tutor you for one of your finals. With the end of College right around the corner-you are desperate to pass.

-The two of you study for a while, although he finds himself a bit distracted. He heard about you and Shinso and well, Bakugo happened to tell him how much of a slut you are-you’ve slept with quite literally all of their friends. So he imagines sweet little you who has always seemed so cute and innocent completely fucked out beneath his friends, whining, begging for more.

Your perfume smells so sweet and flowery, you’re sitting closer than you ever have before. In a tight little shirt and pretty pink sweats that hug your thighs in the best way possible. I mean, how could he not be distracted?

-You ask him a question but he doesn’t answer-too zoned out on the pink lacy bra peeking out beneath your top. He can only see it because of how close you’re sitting and he blushes once he realizes you caught him staring!

“You okay Izuku?”

“Yeah…..I just wanna see something really quick”

-Izuku Midoriya, who has you on your knees mere minutes later-choking on his fat cock. Tears streaming down your face as you gag, attempting to pull off and breathe.

But he doesn’t let you, a firm grip of your hair is enough yo keep you in place. His large hands-that you were staring at earlier cup your head when he starts to fuck your mouth.

-The gargling and gagging noises are downright obscene as he fucks your throat roughly. Sniffles and whimpers as you try to catch whatever breath you can.

-Izuku Midoriya is quite vocal about the way you suck his cock, taking many moments to admire you. His dirty words and actions downright shock you. Who knew such a sweet boy had such a freaky little side to him??

“Mmm doing so good pretty girl, m’dick looks sooo good in your mouth”

“So sloppy baby. You like having your mouth stuffed, huh?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full pretty, such bad manners”

“Hah….look at you slurp this dick up. Never expected you to be so nasty yn”

-Izuku Midoriya who rubs his girthy, wet cock all over your face-slapping you with it lightly. He spreads it across, precum mixed with saliva and tears as he slaps the tip on your lips.

“So fucking nasty, bet you’d let me fuck your throat till’ you can’t talk anymore”

-“You look so pretty like this” His toes are curling as you guzzle him up, pulling off with a loud pop every now and then as you go give attention to his balls. “Shitshitshit gonna cum all over your messy face. Gonna ruin your pretty makeup, yeah?”

-“Ohhh yeah, just like that” He sighs in relief as he takes control again by pulling your hair, guiding you up and down. “You’re a good cocksucker….wish I knew that sooner”

-You’re sososo horny. Seeing someone so endearing act so filthy really has you going. You’re sucking him off like you’ll never get a taste of it again. You speed up your movements, flipping between downright suckling on the tip and swirling your tongue around it.

It seems to be working, judging by the way his knees (and dick) twitch. His moans get louder, breaths beginning to grow more shallow.

-Izuku Midoriya who begins jerking off before painting your face white with ropes of his hot cum, eyes stuck on the way your fingers pick up a bit of it and you lick them clean.

“S-shit. I needed that” He admits.

-Izuku Midoriya who promises that if you pass your final with a higher than 70 percent, he’ll fuck you!