#/i had a dream last night and when i opened my eyes

[lucy-literates]

The Sound of Your Voice

Synopsis: Everyone hears their soulmate’s voice in their head when they’re alone. You’ve been hearing Bucky for years.

A/N: Requests are open :)

The first time you heard his voice, you were fourteen.

It was just a whisper at first. Something like, “This isn’t real,” spoken in a low, gravelly tone — like someone waking from a bad dream.

You screamed. Thought you were losing your mind.

Then your mom sat you down, poured you a cup of tea, and gently rolled up her sleeve. Showed you her own soulmate tattoo. Explained the rules.

“You’ll hear them when they’re alone,” she said. “When they’re most themselves. When no one’s watching. The voice doesn’t lie.”

You heard his voice once a week, then once a day, then sometimes three or four times in a single hour. Sometimes clear, sometimes muffled. Always his.

And always alone.

The things he said changed over time.

“Don’t panic.” “I’m not him.” “I’m not a weapon.” Then, later: “Brooklyn still smells like diesel.” “I miss the quiet.” “God, I hope she’s real.”

You never answered — couldn’t. It didn’t work both ways. But you listened.

You learned to recognize the sound of his breathing.

You didn’t meet Bucky Barnes on purpose.

It was a cold day, and the wind had smacked a flyer out of your hand. You’d chased it halfway down the block, and just as you grabbed it, you bumped straight into someone’s chest.

Solid. Warm. Smelled like leather and cedar.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“No, my fault,” came the voice — his voice — and time stopped.

You froze.

He noticed.

His eyes dropped to your hand — where your knuckles had gone white — then back to your face, searching.

Then, softly: “…You hear me, don’t you?”

You nodded. Swallowed. “Since I was fourteen.”

He exhaled, and it was the kind of sound someone makes when they finally take off a weight they’ve carried for too long.

“You’re real,” he said.

You reached out without thinking and touched his wrist. He didn’t flinch. The skin was warm beneath your fingertips, even where it turned to metal.

“You talk a lot in your sleep,” you said gently.

He cracked a smile. “Sorry about that.”

“You also hum when you’re cooking. And quote old movies when you think no one’s listening.”

His smile grew a little.

Then you both just stood there in the cold for a moment, like the rest of the world had fallen quiet to make space for this.

Finally, he asked, “Can I walk you home?”

You spent the whole walk talking — about nothing, about everything.

He told you about Wakanda. You told him about your childhood. He showed you the tiny notebook he carried for thoughts he didn’t trust his memory with. You showed him the little voice recorder you used to save the things he said.

When you got to your door, neither of you moved.

The silence stretched.

Then he asked, “What’s the last thing you heard me say?”

You flushed.

He tilted his head. “What?”

You pulled out your phone, thumbed through the recordings, and played the one from two nights ago.

His voice crackled through the speaker: **“God, if she’s real, I bet she smiles with her whole face. I bet her laugh makes me forget every bad thing I’ve done.”

There was a pause, then a quiet sigh. “I’d give anything just to know what it feels like to be hers.”

Your breath caught.

Because Bucky didn’t know you’d started recording the late-night conversations he had with himself, half-asleep on the couch, when he thought you were asleep too.

But you weren’t. You’d been listening. Falling harder. And now, heart pounding, you knew it was time to let him hear what you had to say.

[jjwolves]

I love what you did for the last writings that you made, I love how your writing is both intricate and very detailed in both situation and inner thoughts. You captured the personality perfectly of ENA and I can’t wait to read more of your work! Splendid work!

I got inspired by a certain post on TikTok! Here’s the link!

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjPBeFN8/

If you don’t mind, could you write about Dream BBQ ENA speaking differently when she’s around human! reader? Like her Salesman is still about business but the mischievous isn’t trying to sell cons but rather with praises and teasing. And her Meanie side is still scolding and angry but it’s usually about the wellbeing over the reader and yells at them at a lower level.

She clearly speaks more fondly and sweetly to the reader compared to how she is with Froggy, Dratula, the Receptionist, and anyone else. It be so funny to have everyone see this clear favoritism during their day to day and call her out on it one day. 🤣

I hope you can consider this request. Thank you for your time and effort!

PITCH SHIFTING ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA the Worker X Reader, Where ENA is Nicer to You Than Anyone Else

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~900 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @issysh3ll

Warnings: None

ENA has a soft spot for you and everyone can tell. When she comes into work, she passes Froggy and Dratula with a “Good day,” and a “Greetings, o creature of the night.” She gives a short wave to both, but it’s clear that she’s a targeted advertisement who is headed straight for her demographic. You perk up as ENA slows near your workstation and props herself up on her elbows to greet you. “Hellooo~ How is your car running? You look positively punctual today.” A pale hand leaves its station to calmly rest on yours. You both blush and smile at each other, exchanging a tender moment which is unfortunately surveyed by your coworkers. Froggy and Dratula watch on. “Why are they nicer to them?! Is that even allowed?” “At least ve got a good mornink. I am Dratula!” “Wait, why am I talking to you!?”

One time, you accidentally dropped a letter opener off the edge of the Hub and tried to fish it out with a stick. ENA was busy listening to Froggy debrief her on her next mission. “You need to go straight to the heart of the mountain, got it?” “Yeah, yeah. Shut it with the spiel. Can I fulfill my stupid purpose now?” She looked to the side and caught the sight of you leaning precariously over the blood ocean. Deciding not to watch for too long, she ran over and yanked you backwards by your collar. “Watch what you’re doing, moron! You could have been a soggy ingredient deep down in the soup!” You tell her that your letter opener had fallen into the blood and scissors were horrible for opening letters. ENA’s eyes narrowed as she helped you to your feet and brushed you off. “Whatever, I’ll just get you one while I’m out. Now hightail it back to your workstation before I put you in a brochure for poor life choices!” You nervously thanked ENA before skedaddling away according to her command. Froggy was beginning to suspect chemistry between his coworkers—that or cursed magic. They hadn’t filled out any paperwork for the latter if so.

The others start to notice that ENA hangs around you constantly, like some sort of contradictory perfume. She’s always sliding over to your workstation to lean on your desk or sit on a filing cabinet, chatting with you, and, get this—laughing with you. Not a conspiratorial chuckle uttered from a sly smile, nor a manic cackle shaking with fury. A real one, a soft one. Coral Glasses tries to work nearby but can’t help being appalled at how different ENA sounds with you. She subtly listens in out of sheer wonder. A harsh, crackling voice sounded out with a laugh of true joy—it was an odd combination to hear together. “Ahaha! Listen, listen. You’re smart and I like that. Don’t let any numbskull tell you otherwise, got it?” Confused by the sound of banter, Froggy goes to your cubicle to see what you’re doing, but gets blocked by ENA standing in the doorway, facing you with arms akimbo. Her head turns around to fix Froggy with a thin, red smile. “Can I offer you some sort of business solution?” He tries to peek around ENA to see what she’s laughing at, but her colorful head darts around in the air like a foo fighter to block his sight. “...They’re closed. Please come back tomorrow!”

When the Hub is filled with smoke, Froggy doubles over, coughing and retching, claiming that it’s “hitting his nerves with a folding chair”. ENA isn’t terribly concerned about his condition, fixing him with the fierce, focused stare of a sniper about to hit their mark. “Quit being such a baby. It’s a bad look on you, toad.” Standing next to Froggy, you begin to suffer a light cough, pounding your chest to clear your throat. Her face draws close and examines you, blue shadow falling over a sharp eye. “Really?! You too?! You all need to toughen up if you’re gonna survive the winter!” Her reproach makes it hard to notice at first, but you start to feel something firmly tugging and brushing against your collar. Looking down, you see that ENA’s hands are busy fixing your tie for you.

Coral Glasses scratches her cheek nervously as Froggy stands near, watching you and ENA talk from a distance. “I’m not overly concerned with work friendships or anything, but… She’s so much nicer to them than us.” Froggy crosses his arms. “I know. She’s a great worker, but she’s also insubordinate. I need to have a talk with her! Oi, ENA!” ENA glances over and pauses in your softly held conversation, adjusts your collar slightly and then draws near to Froggy’s call. “You rang?” “I just want to know… your priorities, you know?” ENA stares blankly, breaking Froggy’s professional facade. “Why are you so nice to them?! You’re not like that with us at all! You’re so much meaner to me!” Coral Glasses mutters something about not wanting to be involved before ENA explains herself. “Oh, is that really why you called me to this meeting? Well, the answer can be quite easily outlined. They bought out my feelings a while ago; I like them more than you. I’m glad we could clear up this confusion.” ENA turns away and walks back to you before Froggy can ask anything else.

[the-honoured]

Red Thread - ( Trafalgar Law x Reader )

Synopsis: You're a crew member of the Heart Pirates and the sole medical apprentice of the Surgeon of Death, Trafalgar D. Law. When he returns one day to the Polar Tang with a terrible wound, it's up to you to stitch him up. In the process of tending to his wounds, you find a red thread binds the two of you, a suture which tethers you in more ways than one.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB!Reader, Handjob, Cum Eating, Dirty Talk, Brief Mention of Wounds, I Need Trafalgar Law

A/N: After nearly a decade in fandom spaces, this is my very first fanfiction because the Law brainworm has begun to pilot me like a gundam. I hope you enjoy!

⸻ ∔ ⸻

You’re certain that whichever terrible God reigns over the seas is looking down upon you and positively laughing right now.

Your throat goes bone-dry, fingers trembling around the needle and thread held delicately between them as you gaze down at the sight beneath you:

Your captain, leader of the Heart Pirates and an unparalleled doctor, the Surgeon of Death himself, lays atop the operating table— legs splayed, tan skin sheened with sweat, long fingers curled so tightly around your thigh that the skin around his knuckles smooths to bone-white. The fabric of his tank top is torn open down the center, revealing a canvas of perfect skin sliced through by the faultline of a long, incised cut. A sword wound, you deduce. It’s not fatal, but it looks deep and painful, a clean slice running from the linea alba to the external oblique. You prepared it for suturing moments before, just as he had taught you: stabilize the bleed, sterilize with antiseptic solution, wash thoroughly. All that remained was loading the thread through the needle and stitching the wound. 

And yet, you hesitated. It was laughable, really. You had done this a million times before. Captain Trafalgar was nothing if not precise and diligent, and as his medical apprentice, he expected nothing less than surgical perfection from you. For one year you’d studied tirelessly with him, loaded the thread of a needle so many times you were sure you could do it wearing winter gloves and a thick blindfold. You’d spent countless nights tucked so close to his side you could feel his voice pooling in your abdomen, a low and resonant hum beneath your skin, clinging to every word of instruction as he guided your fingers through the different sutures with near-tantalizing grace. 

Those fingers, always so lithe and agile, were now pressed against your thigh like a vice, tight enough it was sure to bruise in the morning. You were certain the memory of their burning heat would last far longer. From beneath you, Captain Trafalgar releases a low, pained moan. Sweat beads along his temples, his brows furrowed tight, his lips pulled in anticipation. 

Your captain was counting on you. A suture as simple as this should be as faultless as breathing for you. Thread the needle, stitch perpendicular to the injury, maintain equal depth and distance from the wound's edge. You hear the deep rumble of his voice instruct you, slow and steady, the same way it always did in your best dreams. The kind of dreams where he was instructing you to do something else.

Oh, gods. He was bleeding and wounded beneath you and all you could think about was his fingers against your thigh.

When you look back up from the wound, you find Captain Trafalgar’s eyes straight on you, burning as deep as bullet-holes. His gaze, storm-grey and dark, cuts through you like a scalpel through wire. It sends a shiver down your spine, countless cold fingers trickling downwards. He must sense the tension within you, detect the trepidation that coils in your gut, because he presses his large palm flat against your thigh and strokes in a near-comforting gesture before he speaks. The feeling of his even skin gliding against yours feels like warm velvet in your veins. Your mouth dries.

“You did- did good,” he grits through his teeth, voice gravel-thick and breathless. “Just have to… close it now. Lift the sk-skin. Loop the needle. Just like– like I taught you.”

You stare at him for a moment, unspeaking, lips gently parted. Then, steadily, you look back down at his abdomen. At the solid cords of muscle beneath sun-tan skin, impossibly taut, rising and falling delicately with each rugged breath from his lungs. Lower, still. At the bead of sweat which rolls down the tight skin beneath his naval, catching on the light dusting of dark hair peeking right above his waistband, a thin, teasing trail that disappears just before it can lead you homeward.

Slowly, your eyes trace the length of his body in reverse, lethargic and longing in their trek, right back up to his face as you meet his eyes. 

He… needed you for this. His sole apprentice. You.

Just like he taught you. 

“I’m going to begin, Captain. Try not to move.” You swallow against the lump in your throat. “It’ll be okay.”

As you fight to keep the shake from your voice, you’re not so sure who those words were meant to soothe more; him, or you. Nonetheless, you loop the suture through the needle, and begin the procedure his perfect hands had guided you through a thousand times before.

⸻

The rest of the crew comes to visit him periodically throughout the night. Bepo was first, a shy poke of white fur-lined ears appearing in the threshold.

“Is he awake yet?” Bepo asks, a thick paw curling timidly around the doorframe of the medical bay.

“Not yet, but his condition is steady. You know him. He’ll sleep it off for a day and be right back on his feet,” you reply, your voice hushed and soft so as not to wake Captain Trafalgar. Even though he says nothing more, Bepo remains planted in the doorway, his small, dark eyes blinking at you. 

“Is something wrong, Bepo?” You tilt your head at him from your seat next to the medical bed Trafalgar lays in. “Are you injured too?”

A small blush dusts the tip of his bear ears pink as he shakes his head wordlessly. You smile to yourself. How cute.

Rising to a stand, you move towards a cabinet at the side of the room, producing a pair of ink-blue gloves from within. Rolling them over your hands, you usher him into the room, lips quirking gently.

“Don’t be jealous, Bepo. Come sit down. I’ll check you anyway.”

Shachi and Penguin come next, entering the medical room just as you finish examining Bepo. Penguin carries a tray of food in one hand, a pair of utensils balanced in the other. Shachi cradles a steaming mug, presenting it to you with a toothy smile. He has to swat Bepo’s hand away when he sniffs the air and smells it’s hot chocolate. The polar bear’s lips curl downwards in a sad expression as he hangs his head in defeat.

“You missed dinner,” Penguin says, putting the plate of food on the bedside table. “I was gonna bring one for Captain, but I thought we should come check if he was still sleeping first.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at the pair, gingerly sliding the hot chocolate mug towards Bepo. His ears perk up in your peripherals as he takes it from you eagerly.

“You came to see if you could eat Captain Trafalgar’s portion, didn’t you?” You whisper questioningly. Shachi and Penguin slowly turn their necks to look at each other, then back to you. In a split second, they’re hanging their heads in defeat.

“Just his dessert,” Shachi supplies, gazing shamelessly at the floor.

“... And his hot chocolate.” Penguin seems to carry all the guilt between the two.

There’s a distinct lack of surprise in your expression as you shake your head at them, pointing a scolding finger. With Captain Trafalgar out of commission for the moment, you seem to be the only voice of steady reason among the crew, even as you try to keep an amused smile from your lips. 

“I knew it. You wanted to eat mine too, didn’t you?” 

Their silence is incriminating. A small laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head and lean towards the bedside table. Picking it back up, you walk forward and place the tray of food into Shachi’s hands. 

“Take it,” you say, rolling your eyes in feigned generosity, as if you couldn’t be bothered. “I’m not so hungry. I ate earlier anyway.”

Shachi raises his head again to meet your gaze in disbelief, looking for all the world like you had just hung the sun in the sky instead of only proffering your dessert to him. You furrow your brows at him when he doesn’t look away, and quickly begin ushering them out of the medical room.

“Okay, okay. Just thank me and stop being weird. Now go, all of you. Captain needs his beauty sleep.”

As the three of them hastily exit, Bepo leans down and presses his nose to your cheek, a thankful gesture before rushing away with your hot chocolate tucked against his chest like a treasured artifact. You place your teeth between your tongue as you resist the urge to smile, watching the three of them retreat down the halls of the Polar Tang, carrying your stolen food. A trio of satisfied bandits. Idiots.

As you stand in the doorway, accompanied only by the sound of the vital sign monitors beeping their metronome and the feeling of fondness light on your shoulders, a sudden flush creeps over the skin of your back. You feel him before you hear him. Like the way you could sense it was him walking the halls of the Polar Tang just by the distinct timing of his gait, or how you could detect his presence from the other side of a closed door without ever having to look past the threshold, that sixth sense flares to life, and you feel his eyes upon you. They map a heat-trail over your silhouette, from shoulder to mid-back. Lower still. He’s silent. Achingly slow. Savoring the image of you turned away from him like the taste of something rich on his tongue. 

He must know you can feel him looking at you by the way your posture turns stone stiff, breath stuttering in your lungs. 

Still, he doesn’t look away. 

“Captain.” The word comes with little breath behind it, and you hate the way it sounds. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, turning to look at him.

Trafalgar says nothing as he meets your gaze. He’d always been this way towards you; observant, succinct. He never leisured in your presence, never used more words to instruct you than absolutely necessary. There was a time where you’d thought that, perhaps, he never saw you as anything but his crewmate, never regarded you with anything more than that clinical way he had of regarding most things. A member of the team. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet, as you move forwards into the room, slowly closing the door of the medical bay behind you, you find the glance he affords you now is… different. Odd.

You take a step forward.

“You let them take your food,” he intones dryly. His gaze lowers, slowly, from your eyes to your lips.

Another step.

“I wasn’t so hungry, anyways. Shachi wanted it more than me. He looked so happy he could cry.” Your hands clasp behind your back, voice smooth and low. “Wanna tell me how you got wounded out there?”

Another step.

His eyes trace the curve of your jaw, trickling down to your neck. It shoots a tingling heat straight through your pulse, up your spine.

“Maybe you should have let him cry.”

Another.

His eyes land on your collarbone, on the smooth valley of skin that peaks just above your slightly unzipped jumpsuit. You think you see him swallow. 

With one final step, you stand directly over him, the shadow of your silhouette draped atop him by the cut of the overhead lights. Your pelvis rests just at the bedline, and he’s forced to look up at you from his position lying down. You’re so close he can smell the fragrance you apply every morning, that crisp scent that mingles with your body heat to form something distinctly you; the same way it always did in his best dreams. The kind of dreams where his tongue got to know if your taste matched your scent.

“That wasn’t my question, Captain.” Your voice comes in a smooth breath, undercut by something sharper than want but more delicate than desire. Iron wrapped in silk. 

Without thinking, you raise your right hand to his now-bare chest, sliding it across his skin. He’s impossibly warm under your fingers. His body heat seeps languidly through your skin, like putting your hands against a bonfire amidst the winter cold. The muscle beneath is solid, firm, rising and falling like cresting waves as his breathing quickens at your touch. Your fingertips gently trace the dark ink that lines the tan skin of his chest, bronze and beautiful, and you bitterly wish it was your tongue tracing it instead. 

His breathing quickens dangerously, and you hear him huff the words out like they were stuck in his throat. “Marines. Got- got ambushed. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Mmh,” you hum. Your hand descends lower. As if on instinct, Trafalgar spreads his thighs, breath hitching in his throat. His gaze stares down at your hand, tracking it with enraptured acuity. Your fingers splay across his abdomen, down to the tight skin beneath his wound, and you feel a dusting of hair tickle your fingertips as they rest just above his happy trail. Your gaze remains on his expression all the while. His neck is slightly raised to watch the descent of your hands. A thin sheen of sweat coats his temples. His eyes are dark and glazed, his lips parted slightly, stuck between panting, anticipatory breaths and clenching the muscles of his jaw.

“I think I like you better like this, Captain. You’re always so tense. The pain makes you agreeable.”

A low moan cuts through his throat, deep and wanting as you thread the fingers of your other hand through his hair, and god you have to clench your thighs just to keep from capsizing at the blissful heat it sends straight to your lower abdomen. You can tell the involuntary sound embarrasses him as he screws his eyes shut, clenching his fists in the sheets beneath him.

“Not the pain. Just– just you. Always just you.”

The admission comes without much consideration, heat-soaked and thoughtless and steeped in the lust of the moment, but you can’t help the fire it stoaks deep within you. Captain Trafalgar. Your captain. Always so calm and composed, always so attentive in his instructions, always working so hard. He was so tense beneath you right now, the sounds of his ragged, wanton breaths flooding your senses, and all you wanted to do in that moment was to make him feel good. To make him feel the way you did when you thought about him in the middle of the night, fingers tracing restless circles along your clit beneath the sheets as you swallowed your moans. 

“Captain,” you plead breathlessly, easing the tip of your fingers just barely into his waistband. He wrenches his head away from you, turning to the side, lips pulled and muscles taut like he’s trying with every modicum of willpower he possesses to resist you. Like he’s in agony.

“Fuck. Captain, you’re in pain. I-I can help you,” you plead. You grind your palm down into his lower stomach, and his eyes shoot open, a choked sound stuttering from between his lips. “Let me help. I hate to see you like this. I can– I can make you feel good.”

Your thighs grind against each other, a pitiful attempt at alleviating the growing ache in your core. You catch your lower lip between your teeth, biting down so hard you think you taste blood, wrenching your eyes shut from the sight of him panting and shirtless beneath you. This was killing you. You knew he was aching just as much as you were; that he wanted this just as badly. So why was he resisting you? Stings of frustration prick your eyes as you try your hardest to steady your breathing, to quell the wildfire of need that was spreading through your veins. 

Your body goes stone-still as you feel his hand reach down towards you and lay itself atop yours. When you open your eyes, you find him looking at you, his expression pained, his storm-grey eyes boring into you with need so sharp it could cut. 

Suddenly, he speaks your name.

With one word, the fraying, coiled wire of tension between you snaps, that binding red thread of restraint shattering completely.

His voice is low and dark, thunder over gravel, poison and the antidote, a single syllable dripping with all the subdued want that had accumulated over the past year for the two of you. Trafalgar looks you in your in eyes, wrapping his large, dry hand over yours, and wrenches his eyes shut as he groans a single syllable into the open space:

“Please.”

With his hand spread tightly over yours, you pull his waistband and the sheets along his hips downwards before reaching to grab his cock. 

He’s hard and thick beneath your fingers, so rigid you’re sure it hurts. Precum weeps from his slit, glistening against his tan head, coating your intertwined fingers so that they glide down his length with ease. He’s wide and long and impossibly full, just as beautiful as you imagined he’d always be. You wrap your hand fully around him, his own still draped over yours, and squeeze tight, taking a slow, aching drag down his length. His jaw drops, chest stilling, holding his breath tight within his lungs before he screws his eyes shut and lets out a moan so rich and low you feel it in the lining of your stomach.

“Fuck– You’re so– so fucking soft,” he groans, squeezing your joined hands over his cock as he grinds his hips against you.

“Shh,” you coax gently, starting slow strokes up and down his length. Your hands catch on every vein and ridge, and you commit the feeling to memory, the gentle moans that spill from your lips mirroring his. You can’t look away from where the two of your hands are joined, sliding up and down his cock, coated with precum and tightly intertwined. “Relax, Captain. Let me take care of you.”

Suddenly, his hand tightens against yours, and your strokes pick up pace as he drags your palm up and down his length just the way he likes. Just the way he always did when he thought of you in the middle of the night, fisting his cock into his hand miserably and biting back his groans, wishing it were you wrapped around him instead.

“Shit– shit, you’re always so good. Pretty– nngh, pretty girl. Stitching me back up–” The obscene sound of your slick hands jerking him off underscore his words and his breath hitches. “Always– hahh, always doing what I ask.”

You lean downwards, close to his temple, still watching him fuck your hand against his length as you speak in his ear. “It’s for you, Captain. Always for you. Fuck, I’ve been here. Always. You just have to ask.”

His cock throbs in your hand, giving off heat like a furnace, twitching in your wet grasp. The feeling of his skin moving against yours with such delicious friction sends throbs through your clit, and you clench hopelessly against nothing, slick heat soaking your underwear. 

Your skin slaps against his hips with erotic sounds, and his moans pick up, tar-thick and strained, like it was so good it hurt. He’s babbling nonsense now, a long string of curses and your name, and you moan alongside him, wringing your thighs together, begging for relief from the wire wound tight in your abdomen but too preoccupied with the feeling of his cock between your fingers to care. Leaning over the bed and down his body, your mouth hangs over his cock as you release a long line of spit onto it. It coats your joined fingers, and you begin to twist your wrist around him, squeezing tighter, the slick sound of jerking him off growing obscene and sloppy.

The groan that rips from him is long and stuttering, deeper than the gash you’d stitched just hours before, and you can feel how close he is by the way he’s grinding against you erratically, bucking his hips into your fist as he drags your palm up and down him furiously.

“Shit— shitshit, I’m gonna–” The words push through his throat like he’s wrenching them out, but you suddenly feel him tense beneath you, stopping the stutter of his hips and the glide of your hand, and you frown.

“Captain?”

“Fuck, don’t wanna– don’t wanna cum,” he stutters. “Too good. Shit– too good.”

When you try moving your hand against him, his fingers constrict around yours and the muscles of his bicep grow taut, holding you in place so firmly you could have been cast in stone. The haze of the moment seems to dim momentarily, and suddenly, you’re reminded of who your Captain is– of the strength he possessed, of the fact that this moment of vulnerability was rare, of the knowledge that in any other scenario it was him standing over you.

You hate the way the very thought ladles heat into your core.

Gently, you cup your hand over his cheek, your face so close to his you can feel his breaths against your upper lip, looking down at him with lust-hazed eyes

“You’re tired, Captain. You need to rest.” You squeeze his length tightly. Your lips barely ghost over his own as you speak. “Cum for me, please–”

“Law?”

As his name leaves your lips, he suddenly grabs hold of your hand, fucking into your fist rapidly like an animal before he comes undone. 

Thick strands of cum pump onto your fingers as he lets out a final, torturous moan, a sound so low and wanton it resonates through you like plucking the strings of a harp embedded into your core. The head of his cock throbs between your fingers, spilling his release in aching bobs of his length, his shallow, spent breaths fanning against your skin. He cums for so long you’re not so sure it’ll ever end. Trafalgars eyes are hazy and low-lidded as he looks up at you, taking in the sight of your face close to his, staving off the growing temptation of sleep just so he can watch you bring your fingers to your mouth and taste him. He’s salty and rich, and you savor him with care before you speak again.

“All better now?”

Without a word, he collapses atop the bed. 

His bare chest falls and rises with even breaths as his eyes close shut. The beeping of his vital monitor subsides into a gentle lull as you pull the sheets back over his frame. When you stand upright once more, you place your hands on your hips, looking down at your work with a satisfied smile. You were his apprentice, after all, and Trafalgar Law demanded nothing short of surgical perfection from you.

Strange, then, that as you watch him drift into rest, you find an urge embedded into your chest, one who’s foreign shape you’d never dwelled too long on in even your best dreams. The kind of dreams where Law lay contently at your side, and your heart ached at the sight of him with you. All night you had unraveled that red thread of composure, the sole binding which kept you from doing what you truly wanted to with him. What was one more offense?

And so, you lean forward, placing a tender kiss to his cheek. The kind that came after the haze of lust wears off. Brushing the hair from his forehead, he hears you speak one last time before sleep overtakes his senses completely. Those same words, thin and silken as gossamer in the wind, the kind you uttered in his best dreams.

“Goodnight, Law.”

[hanasnx]

" NOW CLOSE THOSE EYES AND LET ME LOVE YOU TO DEATH " — darth vader.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: unfinished wip. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ dumbification ノ possession ノ toxic behavior ノ sex work mention ノ brief rape reference.

DARTH VADER keeps you close to his chest. If you weren’t his lover, you’d fit the description of his prisoner. Armed escorts follow your every move, if you’re to leave the Executor you’re to request permission from your lord, and if you expect leniency you will be sorely disappointed. Regardless of your status as his partner, you abide by the same rules as everyone else. Even a teacher’s pet can’t get away with everything.

“I feel a little… stifled.” you concede tentatively, peering at him out of the corner of your eye in your unease as the elevator carries the two of you to the bridge. He does not return your gaze, and in a way that exacerbates your nerves. Being his lover means you’ve had to adapt to his mannerisms, and you’re keen on reading his most minute displays, otherwise veiled by his full-body armor.

“You have everything you need here.” he insists. It cuts the conversation as a leader would, but the bruised ego of a partner persists through the statement. It goes unspoken that he’s referring to himself as the “everything” in question.

You face him with an open mouth to form your rebuttal, but you hush yourself. The door slides open, and he exits, leaving you to watch his cape billow out behind him from his stiff stride.

Lord Vader does not like it when you leave his side—to say the least. He sees no reason other than his own, and he’s confident that any needs of yours are simply the silly dream of a silly girl. There’s not a place in the galaxy you need to be other than with him, and he reminds you of that when you resurface the discussion in his throne room.

“Your request is denied, Administrator. I trust this will be the last I hear of this.” Once again, he shuts you down without room for negotiation, and you clutch hard onto the fabric of your clothes behind your back. He senses your hesitation to accept his decree, and his fingers tap his armrest in a graceful wave. “You’ll do well to hold your tongue lest- you- lose- it.” The words are enunciated in that baritone voice, the one that sends a shiver down your spine at the prospect of being threatened by a Sith Lord. One that is not accustomed to being questioned, will deem it a dangerous invitation to others. If you’re allowed to second-guess his order, what stops others from following your example? He must clip it where it first grows.

You take an appropriate second to gather yourself. “I understand, Lord Vader. I understand perfectly.” you respond with a respectful bow of your head, and take steps back until you can turn to exit the throne room. Once again, he’s refused your reasonable request for shore leave without cause. However, his mistake is believing there isn’t a thing you can do for yourself to counteract it.

There’s no one higher up the food chain on this ship than Darth Vader, and there’s no one higher up than he you can take this matter to. The Emperor doesn’t deal with misdeeds of employment, and the Grand Admirals would never waste their time with the complaints of subordinates. No, this matter would have to be solved domestically, and it’s entirely within your limited power. Lord Vader may be perceived as a wrathful god, but he is still just a man. A man who stalks the corridors late at night to haunt your humble dorm seeking company less than virtuous. A man who summons you to his chambers for depraved performances and a bare body to warm his bed. A man who’s become adept at emptying his every desire—his every inch—into you.

It is an expectation—and an expectation you will subvert.

“You ignore me, my love.” It is said the very next day after a cold night of loneliness, no doubt. Vader’s observation falls on uninterested ears, performing your duties as such as he strides aside you. As you maintain inspections—as is your assignment—you glance at your records listed on your datapad.

“My sincerest apologies, my lord.” you speak as if you’ve rehearsed it, and you lead him into an abandoned lobby room to ensure no one sees you attempting to outrun the commanding officer aboard. “If you could refresh my memory, I would be most grateful.”

This is one of the few times he affords you more of a leash than anyone else would receive. He looks down at you. “Do not toy with me.” Acting dumb is often a grave mistake when it comes to Vader. However, you’re bold enough to stand your ground. Your silence is met with him raising his head, disengaging you as an equal, and now as your superior. Gloves clasp in front of him. “You refused me.”

“Ah,” you exclaim in feigned discovery, and mirror his positioning. “You mean when you summoned me last night.” There’s a quirk to your lips he does not appreciate. “Am I not allowed to say I don’t want you?” your question is meant to come off as proud, but its divisive truth leaves you vulnerable. If your commander invokes power over you to fulfill certain expectations, where would that leave you other than as a concubine? You’re uninterested in being stripped of your autonomy further than you already have.

Implying there is a situation in which you would not want him, causes your lover to shift forward and impose on your space, compensating for the sting of potential rejection by puffing out his chest like some territorial animal. His voice lowers to a thunderous rumble, “You never had before.” Which is to say that deducing your uncharacteristic behavior leaves him with the conclusion that something’s changed.

“Your request was denied, my lord.” you regurgitate his own words back at him with an air of sick glee about revenge. Even remaining perfectly still you can see how he’s taken aback by your actions. You gather your things to return to your work, speaking as you go, “How can I please you when I am so disheartened myself?” you feign self-pity, knitting your brows together as you taunt him. You straighten with your datapad pressed to your chest. “If there’s nothing else…” A forlorn glance to your side, and then you hear it.

“Dismissed.” he spits in disdain.

For the next few rotations, he does not call for you. His will power is not to be underestimated, so your hope dwindles the longer he steels himself against your obvious manipulative withholding.

[talahsaudiobooklibrary]

title: where it wasn't supposed to be (Part 2)

synopsis: the aftermath of the assignment.

a/n: Here is the next part and thank you so much for reading! I will say that nothing super major happens in this part as it's more of a place holder to set up the next one. Also, I know that the first part was in third person but this part, as well as the rest of the parts, are dual POV (I just didn’t want to have to rewrite the first part though). This is my own original story so please do not repost as your own or plagiarize.

warnings: mentions of a gun

word count: 3 k

previous parts: part 1

Natalia:

Natalia gasped and opened her eyes. She breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing and she felt a pressure on her chest, threatening to suffocate her. The dream came to her in her sleep like always. Her parents’ screams. The man in black. The gun. 

The gun. Her gun. The memory of the night before washed over Natalia. The palace. The diamonds. Her gun in his hands. Damian. How he had found her, she had no idea. But the reality that he did, that he found her in the middle of an assignment, sent a chill through Natalia.

Everything that happened after she ran out of the palace was in a haze in her mind. She didn’t remember how long she was running through the streets, but she somehow made it back to her hotel room. Natalia knew that she had to leave Austria, it was too dangerous for her to stay in the country. But she was so exhausted last night that she didn’t even bother to change her clothes. She was still in her black jeans and sweater. And anyway she couldn’t leave, not when she still had a job to finish.

Natalia groaned as she sat up in her bed, her body sore from the amount of times she fell the night before. The clock on the bedside table read that it was noon. Perfect. She still had a few hours to clear her head. Natalia dragged herself out of bed and to the bathroom. She turned the shower on, making the water as hot as it would go. As steam filled the bathroom, Natalia stared at her reflection in the mirror that was starting to fog up. Her long brown hair was a mess, all tangled up in a nest on top of her head. Eye bags hang under her eyes. But it's not her appearance that Natalia paid attention to. She looked into her own eyes, wondering where the little girl she once was went. The past seven years have been a struggle, but that struggle only made her stronger. 

Tears threatened to make an escape but Natalia wiped them away. She will not cry. She wasn’t allowed to cry. Crying was for the weak. She was not weak. That’s what Natalia always told herself.

When the water got scalding hot, Natalia stepped into the shower. The water reminded her of the rain, but a hot one instead of cold. She looked up, letting the water spray on her face. The steam that filled the room made it hard to breathe, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the way the hot water burned against her scars either. All she wanted was to wash last night away from her, let all the feelings she felt go down the drain. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how long she stood there, she couldn’t wash away the words Damian spoke. 

“Is this really the life you want?” 

Natalia tried to ignore the raw emotion in Damian’s voice when he first said those words. She tried to ignore the way his eyes locked on hers in that moment. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t ignore the voice that uttered the seven words that cut deep into her heart, nor the blue eyes, no matter how much she wanted to. 

After several minutes of letting the water beat against her back, Natalia turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. After fishing through her bags in the main room, she changed into black leggings and a beige hoodie. That’s when her phone rang. 

Natalia checked her phone that she left charging on her bedside table. As a woman on the run, it was risky for her to have a phone, as anyone could track her through it. She left it on airplane mode almost all the time, and never took it with her when she had assignments to do. She only had four contacts, so Natalia didn’t have to think too hard about who was calling her. When the familiar name flashed on the screen, the ends of her lips ticked upward. She answered, her heart full with relief when the voice on the other end of the line spoke.

“Natalia? Natalia, are you there mia cara?” the man’s voice asked. His Italian accent was heavy and it sounded as if he was tired.

“Yes, I’m here, padrino,” Natalia said. Her smile widened when she spoke to her father’s best friend. Giovanni Rossi wasn’t really her godfather, but he was as much of a father to her as her real one. He was the one she went to when she was fifteen, and he was the only one alive that cared. He would call her every week, to make sure she was not in jail and still alive.

“Aye yai yai Natalia you’re going to kill me with all this worry!” Giovanni exclaimed. “Do you know how stressful it is for me to constantly wonder where you are?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, padrino. I can take care of myself,” Natalia reassured him, sitting on the bed.

“Where are you now?” Giovanni asked.

“I’m in Vienna, so you don’t have to worry, I’m not so far from Italy,” Natalia said.

“Well, are you going to come back, mia cara?” The older man asked.

“You know I can’t yet. Going home would be too risky, even now. And I still have a few things to finish here before I can leave,” Natalia said. It pained her to say those words. She would give anything to be back in Naples, to be back in Giovanni’s flat. But at the moment, her life didn’t give her that luxury. 

“Well be careful, Natalia. I’d hate to see you in a bad place,” Giovanni said. 

Natalia could hear the pain in his voice, how desperately he wanted her to return. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears again and she knew she had to end the call to stop the wave of emotions. But before she could, Giovanni spoke again.

“Where are you planning on going next?”

Natalia pushed down the heaviness rising in her chest and answered. “I don’t know yet. It depends on how well things finish here. But I’ll call you before I leave. I promise.”

“Ok mia cara. But just remember: Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco,” Giovanni said. He said goodbye to her, and she ended the call. 

The proverb Giovanni said ringed in Natalia’s head, and she couldn’t help but smile. The Italian saying sounded very random when translated: Not all doughnuts come with a hole. But it's the meaning behind the words that fill Natalia’s heart with hope. The saying is used when talking about life. Just like doughnuts, life is unexpected, but Natalia should accept what comes her way and make the most of it. She shouldn't sit around her hotel room and mope about the challenges life throws at her. And that’s not what she planned to do. 

Natalia opened the closet of her hotel room. The metal briefcases and leather bags she owned stared back at her. She punched in the code of the small safe in the closet. She remembered tossing the bag of diamonds inside the night before. Dumping the diamonds on the bed, Natalia counted. Eighty-four in total. With each one being worth around a hundred thousand dollars, she’ll easily be able to get a few million out of her share. Natalia smiled to herself at the prospect. 

Her phone rang again, and Natalia picked it up. Besides Giovanni, there were only three other people that could be calling her. The men that she worked for. Her sponsors. Her managers. Her smile faltered when the name of the head flashed across her phone screen. Natalia took a deep breath and answered the call. 

Damian:

Damian lay in the bed of his hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. His mind went over the night before. The palace. The diamonds. Her gun in his hands. Natalia. 

He closed his eyes and pictured her. The look on her face when he asked her why she started a life of stealing was engraved into his mind. There was a reason she got so defensive when he asked her, he knows it. But he had no idea why. The possibilities that went through his mind were endless. Was someone forcing her? Was she being paid? 

Damian didn’t know, but all he knew was that Natalia wasn’t a bad person. He’s tracked her movements long enough to know that she wasn’t evil. Sure, she was a thief, but Damian noticed how Natalia was always careful. She would go in and out of places like a ghost. Even though he knew she carried weapons, she never fatally used them on anyone, even if she was on the verge of getting caught. When she pointed her gun at him last night, Damian knew she wouldn’t pull the trigger on him while it was aimed at his chest, no matter how much she loathed him. 

But there was a reason why Natalia lived her life the way she did. Damian knew it. It must have something to do with her life, her past. Damian opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Whenever he encountered Natalia, his brain would go back to thinking about her. It was a vicious cycle. He would clear his head and focus on getting the job done. He would tell himself he was just catching a thief. But then he would see her again and all the feelings he tried to forget came crashing back.

Damian grunted as he sat up in the bed of his hotel room. His ribs still ached from when Natalia drove her elbow into him. His nose still burned from the kick but the blood stopped. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, on his bedside table. He leaned over and grabbed the lone AirPod. Looking at it in his hands, Damian couldn’t help but smile. The single AirPod was sort of like his saviour. 

Damian was at the airport in Barcelona, on a layover, a week ago. He was walking toward his gate to return to London when he saw her. He stopped in his tracks. All he saw was the side of her face, but he knew instantly that it was her. Natalia didn’t even notice him five yards away, she just kept walking with the flow of traffic, moving perpendicular to him. 

Damian could see she had her AirPods in. As he watched, Natalia approached a TSA officer, reaching a hand to her ear and taking out a headphone, holding the tiny AirPod between her two fingers. She spoke to the officer for a few moments then turned to continue walking. Just then a man pushed into Natalia and ran her foot over with his carry-on bag. Distracted from the man and the force of the push, Natalia didn’t notice as the lone AirPod slipped between her fingers and fell on the floor, getting kicked to the side by the people passing. But Damian did. As Natalia continued walking with the flow of traffic, Damian walked over to the spot where the AirPod rolled and knelt to pick it up. He placed the headphone in his bag and continued in the direction Natalia went. It wasn’t until he saw her sitting at the gate for the plane that would take her to Vienna, that he knew he couldn’t return to London just yet. 

He had used the AirPod to track the other one as well as the case. With the connections and resources that Damian has, it wasn’t that hard for him to track the headphones partner. But it was clear to him. Where the headphones were, Natalia would be. When he narrowed where in the city Natalia was staying, it was easier for him to follow her. It didn’t take long for Damian to figure out what she was up to, he noticed from the start that she kept visiting the Schonbrunn Palace and taking tours of the interior. The past week he pieced together her reason for coming to Vienna, determined to find her and catch her once and for all. 

But based on the events from the night before, things clearly did not go as planned. 

Damian put the AirPod back on his bedside table. He didn’t even know if Natalia knew that it was missing. He climbed out of bed, and opened the glass doors, stepping out on his balcony. He leaned against the railing and sighed as he stared out at the sea of buildings, the air chill against his skin from the crisp February air, his thin black t-shirt doing little to keep out the cold. 

A cluster of Austrians and tourists moved below him. A black Range Rover maneuvered its way through the street, coming to a stop right at the front doors of the hotel below Damian. Curious, he watched as the driver exited the car and stood next to it, as if waiting for someone. Just then, the doorman of the hotel opened the front doors for a woman. She walked towards where the driver was waiting and started speaking with him. Damian couldn’t help but watch them from four floors above. There was something familiar about the woman, in the way she walked, the way she stood next to the car right now. Damian could see she was wearing all black; the skirt, the top, the short leather jacket, and the black boots. As the woman talked with the driver, Damian could see her adjusting the bag hanging on her shoulder. The bag was made of black leather. 

Damian froze on the balcony and it had nothing to do with the cold. Even though he was mainly seeing the top of her head, he knew it was her. He would recognize that leather bag anywhere. He knew he was staying at a hotel that was close to her, but what were the chances that they were staying at the same one? He honestly assumed that she would’ve left by now. Based on past experiences, Damian knew she would leave the country the second she knew he was close by. 

Damian ran back into his hotel room and flung the doors of his closet open. He didn’t have enough time to get dressed and make his way outside before she left in the car. Damian grabbed one of his metal briefcases and opened it on the bed. He picked up one of the little black disks inside. It was a tracker, about one inch in diameter, that could stick on nearly anything once it was activated. Damian ran back onto the balcony just in time to see the driver open the door to the driver's seat. He dropped the tracker from the balcony and watched as it landed on the roof of the black Range Rover, automatically sticking to the metal.

Damian went back inside his hotel room and put the briefcase away. He changed into black trousers and a white dress shirt, pulling a dark gray wool sweater over his head and slipping on his black leather jacket and black boots. Damian opened another silver briefcase and took out the gun he took from Natalia the night before. He put the weapon in his jacket’s inside pocket, picked up his black biker helmet from the desk, and left his hotel room. 

Outside, the black Range Rover was nowhere in sight. But that didn’t worry Damian. He walked a few yards and stopped at a black motorcycle that stood on the street. He climbed on, adjusted his helmet on his head, and took his phone out of his pocket. He opened the tracking app and watched as the black dot moved deeper into downtown Vienna. Damian started up the bike and began driving in the same direction the black car went. 

After fifteen minutes of following the black dot on his phone, Damian spotted the Range Rover ahead of him, moving backwards to park on the side of the street. Damian parked his motorbike on the opposite side, watching as Natalia stepped out of the backdoor. She thanked the driver who opened the door for her, and then began walking down the street. Damian followed her, not taking his eyes off her figure as he moved through the sea of pedestrians.

Natalia turned a corner and walked the length of the long street, passing St. Stephan’s Cathedral. Damian continued tailing her, the gothic architectural building towering behind them. Finally, Natalia stopped in front of a row of buildings, each one home to a designer store. Damian stopped a few yards behind her, watching as she entered one of the stores. He didn’t follow her inside since she would most likely notice him. 

Instead, Damian walked a few shops down, stopping at Cafe Demel. A waiter approached him as he sat at one of the outdoor tables. He ordered a coffee and waited, his eyes scanning the front of the designer stores. 

After about an hour, Damian spotted her walking out of the store, holding a long bag. As Damian followed her back the way they came, where the Range Rover was waiting, he studied the long bag in her arms. 

What could she have bought? What could have fit in the long bag?

The answer came to him as Natalia approached the black car and he crossed the street to where his motorcycle stood. There was only one thing that could be in the bag. A dress. And Damian could bet good money that it was a fancy dress. A formal one. What other type of dress could she get from a designer store? 

But why would Natalia get a designer dress? Damian pondered the question as he put his helmet on and started up the bike. There was only one explanation. She was going to a party. And there was only one formal party this time of year in Vienna that would require a dress of that status. It became clear to him, in that moment, that Damian would have to go to the Vienna Opera Ball.

Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it 🫶🏻

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© 2025 Talah’s Audiobook Library. All rights reserved.

[kabsey]

(A small and slightly self-indulgent sequel to this.)

A shaft of bright sun from the balcony warmed Lucanis's back and coaxed him out of the strange dream he'd been having, a dream of demons and gods. He lingered on the hazy edge, savoring the soft plushness of the mattress and pillow beneath him. Canting his hips, he stretched his legs out. When the toes of one foot brushed the warm solidity of someone else's calf, his eyes popped open.

He couldn't see much; half of his face was still mashed into the pillow, and locks of his hair obscured the vision of his free eye. But the shape inches from his nose was unmistakably a pale, freckled elbow. He watched it shift as Rook rolled over to face him and tucked one hand under her pillow. She reached out with the other, and gentle fingers tugged free the hair caught in his beard and under his chin and smoothed it behind his ear.

"Thank you for keeping your panic internal," she said. Her lips twitched toward a smile. "If you'd started screaming, Viago probably would have stabbed first and asked questions later."

"You're welcome." His words came out muffled by the pillow.

"You don't actually have to panic, you know," Rook added.

He rolled from his stomach onto his side and mirrored her posture. "You just said Viago would stab me."

"He wouldn't stab you," she insisted. "You're not who he's annoyed at."

"He seemed pretty annoyed last night."

Rook waved her hand. "He's just embarrassed you heard us squabbling. Usually only Teia has that privilege."

The sunlight that fell over his shoulder turned her eyes to honey-brown and caught highlights of gold in her hair. He matched her earlier gesture and tucked a few strands behind her ear and then let his fingertips trace the lines the pillowcase had creased into her face.

"I've never woken up in someone else's bed before," he confessed.

Her smile was soft. "I've never let anyone wake up in my bed before."

His heartbeat tripped a bit at that, but he covered it with a smile of his own. "That was unnecessarily ominous."

Rook laughed. "We're Crows. Isn't that what we do?"

"No. I am never anything but appropriately ominous."

"Is that right?" Her hand came up to his, cradling it between her warm palm and her soft cheek. "I could have Emmrich ask your targets."

"Please don't. That would probably be bad for business."

She hummed in agreement. "Probably." Then she turned her face just enough to brush her lips against his skin. "We should probably get up and get back to the Lighthouse."

He hummed as well. "Probably."

Neither of them moved, and before he could talk himself out of it, Lucanis shifted forward and pressed his lips to hers for the first time. It was simple and soft and as sweet as he could have hoped. When he pulled back, he knew the sight of her pinked cheeks and the look of pleased tenderness in her eyes would never leave him.

"Was that okay?" he murmured.

"Yes." Rook grinned. "You have standing permission."

He didn't lean in again, but he let his thumb come to rest at the corner of her mouth. "Good to know."

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth.

She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff, smut, mild praise kink, foreplay, 18+

What We Never Were Masterlist

Chapter 2

Part III - What We Don’t Say

It was Jake’s idea to visit his old house.

You were walking back from the diner on Main—the same place you’d gone to after every football game, school play, or failed algebra test. He looks at you solemnly, quiet for the first time all morning, before softly saying, “I want to see it again. Just once.”

So you did.

The Seresins sold it a few years after Jake left for the Navy. Too many memories, his mom had said. Too many late-night silences in a house that had once been so loud. They moved to Austin—closer to his sister, smaller place, less space to miss the sound of his boots on the stairs.

You stand along the curb and stare out at the home that once felt like your second. It was technically only 2 houses away but had now also felt distant. The shutters are a different color now. There’s a minivan in the driveway. A basketball hoop has replaced the flagpole Jake’s dad was so obsessed with. But the porch swing is still there. Still creaking in the wind.

Jake gets out of the truck without a word, walking across the lawn like he’s trespassing on someone else’s life.

You follow him.

He stops at the base of the porch steps, eyes scanning the windows, the door, the overgrown rose bushes. 

“I had my first kiss in that swing,” he says softly.

You blink. “You never told me that.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

You stare at him. “Who was it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “You wouldn’t know her. She was new that summer. Stayed with her aunt down the street. Left after two weeks.”

You nod. “Was it good?”

He smiles faintly. “I remember thinking she had toothpaste on her lip. But yeah. I guess it was.”

You both fall silent, the wind brushing against your clothes, the sun warm on your face. Then Jake gestures to the side of the house, toward the fence.

“Come on,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

He leads you through the backyard to the far corner, where the fence once had a gap between the slats. You used to sneak through there every night, barefoot and breathless, just to sit on his back porch and talk.

Jake kneels by the old tree you both used to climb—gnarled now, but still standing.

“It’s still here,” he says, brushing his fingers over the initials carved into the bark. A.F. + J.S.

Your breath catches.

“You told me never to show anyone,” he says. “So I didn’t.”

You kneel beside him, heart thudding.

“I was mad at you when you carved that,” you recall. “You didn’t even ask me.”

Jake chuckles. “You hit me with a juice box. Said it made you look like a clingy girlfriend.”

You both laugh, and it breaks something open between you.

--------------

FLASHBACK — THE LAST SUMMER BEFORE COLLEGE

It was hot that night. One of those muggy Texas evenings where the air stuck to your skin like syrup.

You sat on the back porch, your legs curled underneath you, a melting popsicle dripping red down your fingers.

Jake walked up, sweaty from a run, and dropped beside you with a huff.

“Got your acceptance yet?” he asked.

You nodded. “NYU. Early admission.”

He looked away. “Big city.”

You shrugged. “Big dreams.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You stared at the stars then, both of you too aware of how little time was left. 

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“Of what?”

“Of everything changing.”

Jake leaned back on his elbows, eyes on the sky. “Things always change, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but we don’t always find our way back.”

He turned his head to look at you with a resolute face. “We will.”

You wanted to believe him. Wanted to take that promise and tuck it somewhere safe. But something in his voice made you wonder if he was lying just to keep you from falling apart.

You didn’t kiss him that night.

You wanted to.

God, you wanted to.

But what would that do? You didn’t need the complication. He’d already told you he was joining the Navy. He was going to chase the sky, and you were headed for crowded trains and library steps in Manhattan.

You were on two different launchpads, and neither of you knew how to build a bridge between them.

--------------

Back at the old house, you’re still kneeling by the tree. Jake stands and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“I almost kissed you once,” he says suddenly.

Perhaps, if there was one thing he wanted you to know in this lifetime, it was that moment. Jake doesn’t have regrets, but the memory weighs heavy on him. On days when things get crazy. On nights when an image of your crosses his mind.

You freeze at his admittance. “When?”

“That last summer. The night you got your acceptance letter. You were so happy and scared, and I didn’t know how to tell you I didn’t want you to go.”

You look up at him slowly, unsure whether you wanted to ask but you did. “Why didn’t you?”

He exhales, seemingly contemplating whether he should proceed. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed. I knew you’d go further than this town. Than me.”

You stare at him, the words sinking deep. They twist in your chest, tight and painful.

“That’s not fair,” you whisper, echoing his own words from yesterday

He meets your eyes. “I know.”

You nod, swallowing hard. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

He doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “All the time.”

The revelation hung heavy between you both. Equally afraid to break the fragile rope that keeps you both tethered.

You return to sit on the porch steps again, like no time has passed. Seems like the new owners are out so it gives you time to somehow say goodbye to this place again. The wood creaks beneath you, the wind whistling through the trees. 

You look at Jake one more time. Memories fleeting in your mind. Images of him passing—as a playful little boy, a laughing teenager, a smiling highschool football captain and finally, him now. 

“I liked the story you made up,” you say quietly, as if you owed him some secret as well

Jake tilts his head. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It made me feel like maybe there was a version of us that made sense. A world where we actually... got it right.”

Jake’s jaw flexes.

“But that’s not this world,” you finish, staring down at your hands. “This one’s messy. Complicated. Real.”

Jake doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to rewrite it. He just reaches over and laces his fingers through yours again.

And you let him.

Because for now, the lie is easier to hold than the truth.

You walk back to your house without speaking, both of you lost in thoughts you’re too afraid to say out loud. The house feels farther than it should as the past folds itself neatly into the small distance.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks after a while.

You nod.

But you’re not.

Because all the flashbacks—all the laughter, all the stolen glances, all the missed chances—they’ve added up to a quiet, crushing truth:

You’ve always loved Jake Seresin. Not in the way you love a brother. Not in the way you love a friend. But in the silent, steady, lifelong kind of way.

And it doesn’t matter.

Because he’ll always be the golden boy, and you’ll always be the girl who stood just a few steps behind him.

You’ll play pretend. Smile for pictures. Laugh at jokes.

But deep down, you’ll know.

He was never yours.

TAGLIST: @kvmitchell @mrsevans90 @natureartisian @purplefluffycows @eolsens @lunatygerqueen @deadlybeauty16 @ronniesreverie @anony1080 @vicky199625

Divider Credit: @bernardsbendystraws

[unlimitedlust]

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 8 (+18)

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Heeyy dears!!! I’m finally back from making one of my dreams come true and, as promised, here’s the continuation of the story!!!

I wrote this next part entirely listening to “Dangerous” by Sleep Token because it fits so much in my head, so if you want to listen to something while reading, this is my suggestion for you.

I hope you like this next part, I tried to bring up his perspective like @a-differentbrandof-beans suggested (thank you so much, beautiful)...

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know your thoughts and suggestions, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @witchofozz @wiseyouthinfluencer @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

End of Author’s note.

Y/N blinked into the soft morning light streaming through unfamiliar curtains, as she laid naked and half-covered by a black duvet she didn’t recognize. The only thing familiar was his smell, clinging to the pillow, the sheets and the still warm imprint of where he’d slept beside her.

She sat up slowly, the duvet tugged over her chest, and immediately felt it, the soreness between her legs as her body reminded her of the night before even if her mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Last night was… Well, she couldn’t think of a word strong enough to describe it, but it was like she could still feel it, her body tingling with the memory of all the places he’d touched her, all the places he’d been in her.

Their so-called truce should’ve never gone that far. 

What the hell had she done?

But she knew exactly what she’d done. What they’d done. Over and over again. Bent over the couch, pinned against the wall, in his bed.

She was supposed to hate him, to despise him. That was always the whole point. Hating him was easy and made sense.

But as much as she hated to admit, he had fucked it out of her. And now, she was in trouble.

It wasn’t just a wild night of sex, she knew that. She’d had those before and none got slightly close to the turmoil Eric had stirred inside her.

Fuck. She wanted more. She craved for more.

Her gaze drifted around his bedroom. It was tidier than she’d expected but it did match his annoying personality.

She rubbed at her temple as she tried to process her thoughts. This wasn’t who she was, she needed to get up, get dressed and leave, that’s all. She’d done that before, no big deal.

But still, her body didn’t move.

Not until the sound of water running reached her ears from across the room. The door was slightly open, he was in the shower.

A flicker of memory surfaced, their small feud back at the lake house and how mad she was at him at that moment.

A small smile tugged at her lips and without fully thinking her legs carried her out of bed, one quiet step after another towards the bathroom.

She opened the door slowly, warm steam fogging her vision and the mirror on her left as she narrowed her eyes to catch a glimpse of him, his back turned to her, head bowed under the water spray as he just let it run over his body. 

Eric seemed to be so deep in thought he didn’t hear her getting close, not even opening the glass door to join him.

He was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to let her go now.

He’d spent years pretending this thing with Y/N wasn’t real. Since high school, he’d written it off as boredom, as a way to kill time. Teasing her, provoking her, pushing every button she had just to get a reaction out of her.

He’d told himself it was a game. That the way his heart kicked whenever she snapped back at him, whenever she rolled her eyes or smirked like she had him figured out, that it didn’t mean anything.

But even then, he’d known better.

There’d always been a spark in her eyes that didn’t quite match the hate in her voice. And maybe that was what kept him hooked. Delusional or not, he saw something there.

As life happened and they followed their own paths, he convinced himself she was just a weird high school obsession.

But that was before the wedding.

Before she waltzed back into his life like a knife twisting in his chest. 

She still had the same smile, the same sassiness in her eyes, and still blushed every time he stole a glance. She was still the same, and yet entirely new.

She was a woman now. A fucking gorgeous one.

And suddenly it wasn’t a high school obsession anymore. It was worse, deeper. She’d carved herself into the space behind his ribs without even trying.

He’d barely slept for weeks after that night and their weekend together at the lake house. He kept replaying every second of her, how she looked, how she smiled, how she flushed every time she caught him watching her, how she failed to pretend he didn’t also affect her somehow.

He told himself it was just a phase. Just nostalgia. 

But then he saw her again at that bar, with a date.

And it was like something primal had taken over: rage, jealousy, possessiveness. He didn’t even see the girl on his own arm anymore. All he could see was Y/N with someone else. Laughing at someone else’s jokes. 

And now, after everything, after last night, after finally touching and tasting and feeling everything he’d dreamed about for years, he was frozen.

Because he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. He didn’t want it to be just a one-night-only truce. He wanted more. But wanting her the way he did meant cracking himself wide open. It meant giving her the power to destroy him. 

And that scared the shit out of him.

Eric had never felt anything like this before. Not even close. And now he was lost, completely and helplessly lost, like a ship in thick fog, chasing the faint glow of a lighthouse he wasn’t sure he deserved to reach.

He exhaled, chest tight under the stream of hot water, letting it pound against the back of his neck like it could wash away the mess in his head. He didn’t hear the door behind him open. Didn’t register the shift in air or the extra steam curling around him.

Not until he felt the warmth of her body pressing against his back, the soft brush of her hands running over his abs as she hugged him from behind.

His breath caught and suddenly all that noise in his head, the panic, the doubts, the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing, just stopped. She was here, with him, it wasn’t just a dream.

He spun around. His hands immediately found the curve of her waist and her arms snaked around his neck. She tilted her chin up and he met her halfway, crashing his mouth against hers with a hunger that hadn't cooled overnight. It was messy and deep, all tongue and heat, her lips parting easily beneath his as he pulled her impossibly closer.

His fingers dug into her waist, and her nails grazed the back of his neck, sending a tremor straight through him. There was no space left between them, just wet skin and steam and the electric pulse oozing out of them.

He kissed her like he was drowning in her. Like the only way to breathe was to taste every inch of her.

When she finally pulled back, lips red and kiss-swollen, she whispered against his lips:

“I hope our truce isn’t over yet.”

And he could only hope she didn’t feel the way his heart skipped a beat.

He couldn’t speak at first. All he did was stare at her, into her eyes that still held that sharp fire, now softened by steam and sleep, into the gentle flush on her cheeks, the way her wet lashes clung together, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

“Not a chance,” he finally said, voice rough.

He kissed her again, but slower this time. Less desperation, more passion. He trailed his mouth down her jaw, over her neck, letting his hands roam over her slick, perfect body as he pressed her gently against the shower wall.

She sighed into his mouth, her fingers sliding into his damp hair, tugging lightly, grounding him even as he felt himself slipping, losing all sense of reason where she was concerned.

He wanted her again. God, he was already so hard for her again.

His hand slid down between them, between her thighs, fingers brushing lightly against her heat, until she hissed softly, her reaction making him stop and pull back an inch.

Her eyes fluttered open, brows drawing slightly together even as she tried to pull him closer again.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, voice thick with want, her hips rolling subtly into his hand despite the wince.

But he shook his head gently, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“You’re sore,” he said softly, lips brushing her skin. “I don’t wanna hurt you just to have more of you. I can wait.”

He pulled her into his arms instead, resting his forehead against hers again, letting the water wash over them both.

Because as much as he wanted her, he realized now that having her meant a lot more than just taking. They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, letting the hot water cascade over their bodies.

Eric dipped his head to press a kiss to her temple, then reached for the small bottle of shampoo on the ledge. Without a word, he gently nudged her back a little and tipped her chin up so the water could dampen her hair. She looked at him, soft and curious, but didn’t resist, just let him take care of her.

His fingers threaded into her scalp, slow and tender, massaging the suds into her hair like she was something breakable. Like she deserved to be worshipped, not just desired.

Y/N closed her eyes with a small sigh, leaning into his touch, and he watched her, the way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the faint smile playing on her lips. He’d never done this before. Not like this. Not for anyone. And definitely not without an ulterior motive.

But this wasn’t about seduction. This was just… Her.

Eventually, he kissed her again, soft and unhurried, and whispered, “I’ll get out first. Let you finish. Take how long you want and use whatever you want.”

She gave a small nod, lips still pink and wet from his, eyes barely open and a soft blush tinting her cheeks.

Eric stepped out of the shower, running a hand through his damp hair as he reached for a towel. He dried off quickly, his mind still buzzing with everything she made him feel, the quiet ache of wanting to hold onto whatever this was for a little longer.

It was too good. Terrifyingly good.

As he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and padded barefoot into the kitchen, his phone buzzed from the counter. He glanced at the screen.

Liam (2) missed calls. Incoming.

He sighed and answered, even though something in his gut warned him not to.

“Took you long enough!” his brother’s voice crackled through the speaker, light and teasing, yanking him out of the soft fog he was still wrapped in from the shower.

“I was busy.” Eric muttered, already regretting picking up.

“Damn. You sound like shit. Rough night or good night?” Liam laughed.

Eric smirked automatically, muscle memory taking over like a reflex. His guard snapping back up before his mind could catch up with what his heart was still feeling. “What do you think?”

“Ohhh.” Liam’s tone turned playful. “So who’s this? Anyone I know?”

And then it happened. That familiar, awful instinct. The old armor sliding back into place. The default setting, the one that kept everyone out, the one that told him to minimize, deflect, hide. The one that didn’t let anyone in, that couldn’t let anyone know she means something.

He leaned against the counter, voice cold and easy. “No one important. Just another hook-up.”

Silence. Even Liam didn’t laugh this time, he could sense his brother’s uneasiness through the phone. 

“Are you sure?” his brother asked carefully, like he could hear the lie in his tone. Like he already knew.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because that’s when he turned and saw her, standing frozen in the doorway, hair damp, wrapped in one of his towels. And she’d heard every word.

Her eyes weren’t wide with shock or narrowed with anger. They were blank.

Completely, terrifyingly blank, and that gutted him more than if she’d screamed.

Like something had snapped clean inside her. Like he’d finally managed to cut whatever thread had been holding her close, whatever fragile, unexpected connection had started to form between them in the last twelve hours.

“Shit,” he muttered, lowering the phone, voice hollow now. “Wait, Y/N, it’s not what…”

But she was already moving fast, like touching the floor burned her feet.

She yanked the towel off her head and began grabbing her clothes, the skirt crumpled on the floor next to her heels, her inside-out top on the counter. She moved like she couldn’t get out of his space fast enough.

Eric started towards her, heart punching against his ribs, but stopped cold when she finally looked at him.

There was no fire in her eyes. No anger. No witty jab.

Just hurt. Raw, unfiltered hurt.

And it was the worst fucking thing he’d ever seen.

She slipped her skirt on and the top over her head before she bent to grab her shoes.

“Y/N…” he tried again, but she straightened, stopping him in his tracks.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she said, voice low but steady. “I almost forgot who you really were.”

Eric flinched like she’d hit him, but she wasn’t done. She slipped her heels on, ran a hand through her damp hair, and looked at him one last time.

“You know…” she added, her voice cracking just slightly at the edges, “you almost had me.”

A bitter smile curved on her lips, the kind people wear when they’re trying to keep themselves from falling apart.

“Almost.”

[manyimaginativemuses]

He Ate My Heart - Remmick/OC - Chapter 2

Chapter Warnings: Dream Sex, emetophobia/mild vomit, unplanned pregnancy, eating raw meat/drinking blood, creampie, rough sex, mild body horror

Read on AO3!

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Maeve didn’t wake up until hours later, her entire body aching and throbbing as she came back to consciousness. She slowly blinked her eyes open and felt almost like she had a gnarly hangover, her head and neck pounding with a deep nausea pitted in her stomach.

“What the fuck?” She whispered, looking around the room in shock as the memories of the previous night began to come back to her. The sight of broken furniture, holes in the walls, and the feeling of dried blood on her neck made her groan with annoyance as she remembered just what happened. The scary part was that she knew she had participated willingly, but none of it felt real the entire time, like it had been a dream or some vision she had hallucinated. She shivered then, realizing that she was completely naked and only covered by a thin blanket on her couch, groaning loudly again when she saw the scraps of her dress from the night before strewn all over the room.

“Seriously Maeve? Seriously?!” She hissed at herself, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and attempting to stand up. However, the second she tried to push herself off the couch, she fell back down as her legs felt like jelly. Her ass and thighs were sore and tired, like she’d just run a marathon and could barely stand. What made it even worse was the sudden feeling of something thick and wet sliding out of her and down her inner thigh. When she realized what it was, she slammed her hand on the couch and tangled both hands in her hair.

“What’s wrong with you? No seriously, what is actually wrong with you that you would FUCK A RANDOM STRANGER YOU INVITED INTO YOUR HOUSE WITHOUT ANY PROTECTION WHATSOEVER?!” Maeve yelled at herself, finally managing to stand upright and began to stumble to the bathroom. And when she finally made it, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and horror set in.

Her entire body was covered in bruises and bite marks, like she’d been attacked by an animal. Her hips had massive gouges into the flesh, claw marks prominent and bloody. But the worst was her throat, atleast her lover seemed to have the decency to attempt to bandage it as it had a large cotton bandage over what she could only assume was a massive wound. She whimpered nervously as she began to peel it off, hissing with pain as the bandage stuck to the injury and peeled some of the skin off with it. Her eyes widened in shock and disgust as there was a huge red and swollen bite wound into the meat of her throat and shoulder. She let out a sob from the shock, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to process what had happened to her.

Memories flickered through her mind of the night before, images of Remmick making love to her over and over again but the images were twisted. His eyes had been a glowing red, his teeth fanged and covered in her blood, his claws digging into her hips and pulling her onto his cock relentlessly. In the moment she didn’t notice these attributes. She had been so overwhelmed with desire that she didn’t even care to give his features a second glance. And now that she was fully awake and aware of everything, she put the pieces together with unabashed terror.

Maeve had willingly made love to a vampire. She had given herself, body and soul, to a vampire who fed upon her and, at the same time, made her see god with his body. That was when she was unable to stop the bile from coming back up, almost collapsing over the toilet as she expelled every last bit of liquid in her stomach… including any leftover drool she retained from Remmick’s love the night before. She spat up anything that remained on her lips, her entire body trembling with fear and anger at herself for even letting a vampire into her home.

Which reminded her-

“Remmick, I revoke my invitation, you are no longer allowed into my home.” She shouted aloud, hoping and praying that would be enough to keep him at bay for good. From the stories her grandparents told her, vampires could only enter one’s home if they had an invitation, which meant that conversely, if you were to revoke a vampire’s invitation, they would be forced to leave and could no longer cross your threshold. This thought alone gave Maeve some comfort as she curled in on herself on the bathroom floor. She didn’t feel as though she’d been raped, not in the slightest, but she certainly felt dirty for everything she’d let him do to her. If he were a normal man, she wouldn’t have been as angry at herself and maybe, just maybe, she would’ve considered finding him again for another late night Rendezvous.

But Remmick was a vampire, and a clearly dangerous one at that, and once she had collected herself and cleaned up all her wounds, Maeve made sure to start protecting her house as well as she could. She took some of her silver jewelry and placed it in her windowsills, hanging a pair of necklaces on either side of the doorway as well. She grabbed the crucifix she had in her room and put it over the doorway on the front porch. She took every bit of knowledge her grandparents bestowed upon her and used it to the best of her ability to try and protect her house.

She also began wearing silver jewelry to work, wearing her necklaces and earrings proudly as she felt like not only was she protecting herself, but she was protecting the children she taught. After all, if a vampire was able to find her this far out into the country, she was certain he’d want to find easier meals in children. One thing did stick out to her though as time began to pass and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. Maeve wondered deep down why he hadn’t killed her. Why had she been so special that this horrific creature left her alive and brought her so much pleasure that she could never recreate? In all the myths and stories she knew about vampires, they barely ever left any victims alive, and those they did leave alive, they turned them into fellow vampires to continue the cycle of blood and murder.

She was given further proof of this fact when her morning paper had a headlining story of a brand new Juke Joint that was destroyed on the other side of town. There had been a massacre, the paper itself only mentioning the young black man who appeared to have slaughtered the Klan ambush that attacked him. But there were also mentions of strange piles of ash scattered across the ground outside and large pools of blood all throughout the inside of the Juke Joint itself. Those things the paper had no explanation for, but Maeve had a feeling deep in her gut that Remmick was responsible. He had indeed made a phone call that night to someone whom he spoke to in Gaelic. It made sense that he and whoever he called would be responsible for said attack.

The fear and guilt began to eat her alive, turning her from the powerful and confident young woman she had once been to a shell of anxiety and depression. Not only was she terrified of him coming back, but the sheer amount of guilt she felt over the fact that she missed him. Every day that she was away from him, her heart ached and called out for him. Maeve wanted him back, she wanted his touch and his kiss so desperately she thought she would be willing to kill for if. And that thought alone made her sick to her stomach. A lot of things, in fact, had been making her sick as of late. Certain smells and even the mere idea of having to eat certain meals made her so nauseous she had to sit down before she threw up everywhere. The only thing she was able to consume and keep down was red meat. She’d been craving it for almost a month and a half before she grew concerned. Maeve had never craved anything like this before and she had never had so many problems with food that she started losing weight as a result.

However, what really sounded the alarm for her was when she got a paper cut at work one afternoon. It wasn’t too deep but it still bled, causing her to suck on her finger to help the sting. But the INSTANT she tasted her own blood, Maeve felt an unnatural shiver run down her spine as a moan of pleasure tore from her throat. It was like she had tasted ambrosia from the gods themselves. She was tempted to bite even further into the cut to trigger more blood flow, only to be suddenly brought back to reality by her coworker clearing her throat and asking her if she was ok. The realization that she had just fed on her own blood in combination with all of her other symptoms made her finally decide to go to the doctor. She didn’t think Remmick had actually turned her into a vampire, but he certainly did something to her, and if it was cureable, she wanted to fix it as soon as she could.

However when she described her symptoms to her doctor, he just laughed and smiled at her before lying her back on the examination table and taking a horn shaped object and pressing it to her abdomen. Maeve immediately realized what he was thinking when he did so, reaching out and trying to stop him.

“Doctor I- there’s no need for you to do this. I can’t be pregnant, I had some medical problems as a teenager, it left me with permanent damage. I’m infertile, there’s no way I could be-“

“There it is!” The doctor exclaimed with a smile and Maeve stared at him with wide eyes, “Nice and strong heartbeat. On the faster side for this gestation, but still healthy sounding. When did you say the date of your last menstruation was?” He asked as he pulled away, but Maeve just lied there frozen. She was pregnant. There was no physical way she could be pregnant and yet she was. Sheer panic and terror gripped at her as she realized the vampire that had stolen her heart had left a piece of himself behind. She was unable to answer the doctor’s questions as she spiraled into a panic attack, tears staining her cheeks as she screamed into her hands.

“Hey hey, it’s ok, just take a breath Miss Fogarty. Many young women your age become pregnant unexpectedly. You’re gonna be alright.” The doctor tried to soothe her, taking her hand and patting it gently but Maeve was nearly inconsolable.

“I can’t… I can’t be pregnant….that’s not possible!” She sobbed, pushing the doctor away as she tried to stand up, only for the doctor to call the nurse in for assistance.

“Miss Fogarty, I’m not letting you leave here until you calm down. Is it unsafe for a child in your home right now? Does your husband beat you? What’s going on, my dear?” The doctor asked as the nurse took Maeve into her arms, letting her cry into her shoulder and clutch at her desperately.

“Y-you wouldn’t believe me if I told you….” She whispered through sobs, slowly starting to calm down as she tried to think of what she would do now. Most of her panic was centered around the fact that she was overjoyed to finally be a mother. When she’d been told in her teenage years that she was infertile, Maeve was devastated. She had brothers, three to be exact, but they were more concerned with running the farm since their parents died to continue their family’s legacy. Maeve desperately wanted to fall in love and have a child, but she had resigned herself to being an old maid and letting her family name die with her as a teenager.

So to suddenly be told she was pregnant after having a one night affair with a handsome vampire, she felt her entire world be upended and transformed right before her eyes.

It took a long time for her to properly calm down as she tried dodging the doctor’s questions since she didn’t want to sound insane. He reluctantly let her go with some prescriptions for vitamins and told her to come back for a checkup later, but all of his efforts fell on deaf ears. Maeve walked home with a ringing in her head, her heart pounding as she tried her best to process everything that was going on. Not only was she pregnant, not only was the father a vampire, but the worst part of it all was that she wanted to keep it. She had always wanted children, so despite the child’s parentage and her situation, she was going to keep the baby and raise it as best she could. And one thing she was also determined to do was that she was never going to tell Remmick. He hadn’t shown back up in the three months since they’d made love, she hadn’t even seen a glimpse of him, so she was ready to raise her child on her own but with the love and support of her family.

When she told her brothers about her situation, they were beyond excited for her. Her eldest brother John scooped her up into his arms and spun her around, completely overjoyed that he was finally going to be an uncle.

“John, put her down, she’s bound to be sick enough already.” Declan chimed in, patting his brother on the shoulder and smiling at Maeve, “We’re so happy for you sis, really. We know you’ll be a great mom.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to hunt down the man who did this to you? You know our horses are fast enough to catch any no good deadbeat who tries to run.” Liam added as he slung his arm around Maeve’s shoulders.

“I’m sure Liam, there’s no need for all that. It was a one time thing anyway, I don’t even know his name. But he didn’t assault me, he didn’t take me without consent, don’t worry about that.” Maeve soothed her brothers but John rolled his eyes anyway.

“We still think he should atleast take accountability, maybe send some money for the child’s well being . Finding him is a good idea.” John crossed his arms and watched his sister continue to protest, getting increasingly concerned as to why she was so adamant about not finding the father of her child.

“You know as well as I do that we have more than enough money to support this baby. They have three massive uncles, they won’t need a father.” She smiled and Declan sighed.

“Well if you ever change your mind, let us know. We have a few friends who owe us some favors, we can track him down easily, just say the word.” Maeve playfully smacked her brother on the arm before she was embraced by all three men at once.

“Guys cmon! Lemme go! I’m gonna be ok, I promise! I have you guys and my coworker gave me the name of the midwife that delivered her son. It’s all gonna be ok.” She said softly, knowing how nervous they all were about this since their mother had died giving birth to Maeve.

“If you die like mama, I’m fighting Saint Peter and dragging you back to us, I swear.” Liam whispered and Maeve squirmed again before finally giving up and falling into their embrace. She sighed heavily and relaxed into her brothers’ arms.

“I’m not gonna die, I’m too stubborn for that.” She teased, playfully shoving her brothers away as they let her go, “I’m gonna be the best mother I can and I know yall are gonna be the most obnoxious uncles any baby could ever have.” Maeve’s words were firm and serious as she meant every word. The only problem was she had no idea if she was going to survive this pregnancy. With a normal human baby, she would’ve been fine, but this child was half vampire. This child was brought about from the union of the living and the dead, and every story out there proclaimed it to be a monster.

But Maeve was determined to not let her child be like its father. She would do literally everything it took to keep her baby safe, even if that meant damning her own soul in the process, because as her pregnancy progressed, those cravings for red meat only intensified. It eventually got to the point where she would buy raw ground beef and steak from the butcher and drink the leftover blood once she was finished with the raw meat itself. One evening, she was so disgusted in herself when she finished three whole raw steaks and chugged all the blood from the packaging in one go. The worst part was that none of it made her sick, in fact it actually made her feel better. Any time she tried to eat anything other than raw or cooked red meat (it was raw more often than it was cooked the further along she got) she would throw up so violently and frequently that she couldn’t even stand up afterwards. Eventually she just gave up trying to eat anything that wasn’t meat from the butcher, using the excuse that she was cooking for the local homeless so people wouldn’t get suspicious.

As her belly grew, rounding out from the child within her, Maeve’s mind began to wander to Remmick. If she didn’t have physical proof growing inside her, she would’ve believed him to be just a dream. She was eight months gone with his child and she hadn’t heard a single word from him, not that she had tried to reach out to him or anything, but she assumed that he would atleast attempt to come see her again. She thought for a while that maybe her original attempts to stop him the day after they were together did the trick to keep him at bay, but when she removed the crucifix and all the silver, he still didn’t come back. Maeve couldn’t help but feel a little brokenhearted at this. Despite knowing what he was, despite knowing he was a killer, she still missed him. Whenever she thought of him, their babe moved in her womb, its firm kicks reminding her of its father as they were much stronger than what most of her friends described. It was like he had some kind of invisible connection to their child, because every single time without fail that Maeve thought of Remmick, their child would kick and move in response. Like some unseen thread was tugging at her baby, trying to draw its father to them. Maeve didn’t know if she should’ve been comforted or horrified by that thought.

However the universe seemed to decide for her as her mind was drawn back to Remmick one night in her dreams.

She was resting in her living room, a good book in her hands, when she heard a familiar voice calling her name from outside. It was haunting and beautiful, just as she’d remembered, and she practically floated to the front door as if she was summoned by his voice alone.

“Maeve… there’s my girl…” Dream Remmick whispered, looking just as handsome as he had so long ago. Maeve immediately responded and walked out to meet him on the porch. He took her in his arms and pulled her close, claiming her mouth with his and making her feel even more floaty in her dream state. The taste of his kiss was intoxicating and she wanted more, begging him with her body to just take her right then and there. Her vampire lover obliged, pressing her against the wall and kissing down her neck, his large hands caressing her overly sensitive breasts and causing her to cry out.

“I’ve missed ya… your body is so desperate for me, it’s been calling out to me for months… I’m so sorry I’ve been neglecting you darlin…” His voice made Maeve whimper, her hands trembling as she gripped at his shirt.

“Please… Remmick Please….” She begged, her words trembling and dripping with desire. Remmick flashed her a fanged smile, somehow manipulating the dream world so that they were both naked in an instant. His hands dragged down her body, her dream self still the same size she was when they first met.

“So beautiful…. And so desperate for me… Fuck, I don’t deserve you but you gave yourself to me anyway…” Remmick brushed his face against hers, her scent driving him wild as he pushed her firmly against the wall and took her into his arms. His red eyes met her grey ones as he lined himself up and pushed inside her. He moaned loudly and obscenely, throwing his head back as his cock was engulfed in her warmth. This time it seemed like he was the one drunk on her, and Maeve couldn’t stop smiling at the sight of it.

“Fuuuucking hell, Maeve… you’re just as tight as I remember, maybe even tighter… Gods I’ve missed you…” Remmick snarled out through gritted teeth, his claws extending and gripping her hips again, making Maeve cry out from the pleasurable pain. She also noticed his accent slipped a bit, changing from the southern drawl he normally had to a soft Irish brogue which surprised her. However, any thoughts she had that weren’t Remmick’s name got thoroughly fucked out of her as he began pounding into her relentlessly.

“Remmick! Remmick, oh god yes! Yes yes yes yes!” Maeve screamed his name as he speared her onto his cock, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held onto him for balance. It made sense that he could lift her so easily in a dream but she was still surprised he was fucking her so effortlessly. Remmick laughed and smiled against her, kissing down her jawline and throat as his moans became louder and more frequent. And when he swiveled his hips just right, his massive size brushed against a spot inside her that practically threw her into her orgasm. She sobbed out her ecstasy, her body clenching and rippling around him which only made him start fucking her harder.

“Yes Maeve… yes yes yes, that’s it, that’s it Maeve, lemme have it. Give it all to me…” He growled deep in his chest, the scent of blood filling the air as he bit into her throat and clawed into her hips. His voice had that odd doubling echo to it as it had oh so long ago, reaching Maeve’s ears and making her crave him even more. And because this was a dream, her body blessed her with two more orgasms, back to back, as Remmick didn’t even let up for a second.

“I’m yours! Oh god Remmick, I’m yours! I don’t care what you are, I’m yours!” She exclaimed, her words almost slurring with how badly she wanted him. Remmick, however, froze for only a fraction of a second, as if her statement of knowing what he was threw him off. The only indicator that something had changed was the odd expression on his face as Maeve noticed he wore a look of confusion and relief all at the same time. She tangled a hand in his hair and yanked to try and get the dream back to how it was and that seemed to do the trick as Remmick returned to his original pace. He once again buried his face in her throat and bit down hard, the feeling of him draining her blood sending her into another climax. The sensation of tasting her orgasm through her blood sent Remmick over the edge, his body tensing as he clung to her deeply. His cock erupted inside her, filling her full of his cum to the point that it was leaking out from where they were joined. Maeve moaned with him, their noises combining to almost make a beautiful chorus of desire.

“Remmick…” She breathed his name, placing kisses to his temple and forehead as he remained inside her. He looked up at her, his eyes still a piercing red but strangely, she wasn’t scared of him. She had become aware it was a dream and she sighed, caressing his cheek like he was the most precious thing to her. He immediately nuzzled into her touch, letting out a high pitched whine as it became clear he was severely touch starved. He was so desperate for any kind of connection that he would take whatever she was willing to give him, “Why do you keep haunting me?” Maeve’s voice trembled as she spoke and Remmick stared at her like she was the only thing in his life that mattered.

“I would say I’m sorry, but that would be a terrible lie.” He pressed his forehead against hers and licked his bloodstained lips, “I don’t… you’re too good for me, for this life. I wanted to make you like me the moment I met you, but when I tasted your blood I got your memories. I saw the.. the joy that you bring to your community. You teach the children, you carry on the stories of the past to those who deserve to hear it. You keep the past alive despite everything in this world trying to snuff it out.” He swallowed dryly and gently rubbed his face against her, “And you can sing… I heard your voice in your mind. You sing like it’s the only thing good you have left in this world and I cannot bear to take that from you. My life… what I am… it’s not good. I am not a good man. Every day I do what I can to ease that terrible loneliness burning inside me but it’s never enough. I don’t want you to experience the same loneliness that plagues me, darlin.”

Maeve felt her eyes tear up at his admission, her heart breaking because she knew it was only her mind conjuring up this image of him, that what he was saying was only what she wished he would say. She shook her head and sniffled, pulling away and meeting his eyes once more.

“Sometimes I wish I never let you inside… sometimes I beat myself up over the fact that I willingly gave you all of me all while ignoring the monster you are. I hate myself because I can’t hate you….” She whispered and closed her eyes, “Goodnight Remmick. Thank you for the wonderful night…” Maeve separated herself from him with a hiss and pulled off, her clothes spontaneously reappearing on herself. She turned around to go back inside and she swore she heard him breathe her name again, but the moment she closed the door, she woke back up in a sweat on her bed.

She panted like she couldn’t breathe, placing a hand on her belly as she felt the child within her practically dancing. They kicked and wiggled violently in her womb, causing her to wince ever so slightly from the discomfort.

“I’m so sorry my darling… I’m so sorry you’ll never know your daddy, but it’s for your own good, and for mommy’s too, I promise. Someday when you’re old enough, I’ll tell you the truth, but please believe me when I say I will keep you safe every single day for the rest of my life… even if that includes keeping you safe from him.” Maeve muttered, pressing her palm against where her baby was visibly pushing against her skin. She squirmed slightly then, realizing she was soaking wet from her dream. She didn’t have the energy to take care of it as she rolled over and cradled her belly. A few stray tears stained her face as she fell back to sleep, the child inside her calming along with its mother.

—————————————

Across the city, Remmick sat on an abandoned bed and stared up at the sky. He swore he could still taste Maeve on his tongue, the “dream” so powerful that some of the other vampires in the building could feel it too.

“Do you love her?” One of the men asked, having witnessed the dream through Remmick’s hive mind.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I know what love is anymore. All I know is that she’s safer without me. I protect her family’s land, like I promised, but she is off limits, not just to me but to all y’all, got it?” He turned his head towards the room of vampires who nodded feverishly, “Any hunting y’all do on her land has to be run by me first. Ain’t nobody goes near her or her family though, period.” Remmick’s voice deepened to prove how serious he was.

“That sure sounds like love to me.” Another woman chimed in, running her fingers through her hair to remove any leftover blood clots.

“Even if it was love, it ain’t worth the heartbreak….” Remmick mused quietly to himself, continuing to stare at the stars. Over the thousand years he’d been alive, he always loved the stars. They were the one thing that never changed in his shithole of a world. They were consistent and bright and always there no matter what. The stars brought him comfort when nothing else did, and when he thought he found a bit of comfort in Maeve’s arms, he forced himself to abandon it before it abandoned him first.

[humanrindswrites]

dreaming

summary: y/n wakes up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and tries to get some comfort from bill without waking him up

pairing: bill skarsgård x female reader

warnings: fluff, mentions of nightmares (the nightmare itself isn't described), comfort

word count: 486 words

a/n: just something short that came to me after i had a really weird dream the other night (it had nothing to do with bill but it was weird enough to freak me out). also, nobody needs to know, but i just got my period and i'm in a mushy mood so this was perfect to write.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she woke up with a start. The room was still dark as she turned over, trying not to disturb Bill as he slept soundly beside her. Her whole body trembled as the excess adrenaline wore off, and she caught her breath again, taking in deep, heaving lungfuls of air to calm herself down.

She carefully turned over on the mattress, his arm loosely draped over her waist, and tried her best not to wake him up as she shuffled closer to his body. Her eyes closed again when he tightened his arm around her and pulled her into his chest, but she couldn’t stop how much she shook in his embrace.

He’d been working so hard lately, often coming home after a long shoot and immediately going to bed. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb him just because she had a stupid nightmare like a child.

A soft groan sounded in his chest as he slowly started to wake up.

“Baby…” he mumbled as he hugged her tighter and rested his cheek against the top of her head, his eyes cracking open.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, trying not to rouse him any more. “Just go back to sleep.”

“You okay?” he asked, barely able to keep his eyes open. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N mumbled into his chest. His skin was warm under hers, and just being able to feel him already calmed her down immensely. “Just had a nightmare.”

“You don’t feel fine,” he said through a yawn. “Want me to stay up with you?” 

He ran his palm up and down her back, lifting her top slightly to touch her bare skin. She shook her head and nestled further into his arms, letting his warmth soothe her. 

“No, you need your sleep.”

“I don’t mind. Your shaking’s making it hard to sleep.”

Y/N laughed softly and rested her head back on her pillow. “Sorry, I can’t really help it.”

“I’ll just wait until you go back to sleep,” he said, his hands continuing to stroke her back under her top.

She looked at him as her trembling faded away, studying how wrecked he looked: he struggled to keep his eyes open, the pupils rolling back and forth as he fought off sleep, and she could feel his hold on her slackening, his arms more than likely sore from the day he’d just had. She couldn’t help but feel bad for waking him up, but at the same time, she was glad that he’d offered to stay up until she fell asleep again.

Y/N could feel her eyes start to grow heavy again and let them close on their own, soothed by Bill’s touch. She felt him gently kiss her forehead and nestled her face into his shoulder as they both drifted off, better dreams ahead for both of them.

[yuta-nakamots]

Fools - H.Renjun (Teaser)

Pairing - Boyband Member!Renjun x Makeup Artist!Female Reader 

Genre(s) - Fluff, Hairspray!AU, The Outsiders!AU, Soc!Renjun, Greaser!Reader, 60s!AU (Angst to be included in the full fic)

Warning(s) - slight social group rivalry/discrimination (Greasers vs. Socs)

Summary - You’re a Greaser makeup artist and he’s the Soc golden-boy idol with a perfect smile and a secret streak of rebellion. Every Tuesday, Renjun trades polish for something real, and he kisses you like it’s worth losing everything he has.

Teaser Word Count - 0.9k

Estimated Release Date - May 31, 2025

Author’s Note - I wrote this to be similar to Hairspray, where Renjun and the reader work for a weekly recurring show except without the racism. Hairspray was one of the first Broadway musicals I was introduced to and I remember it so clearly as a part of my childhood so I really tried to include things like the childhood crush I had on Link and the hurdle of social unrest regarding the difference in groupings of the characters 

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net (join my taglist!)

Written for The Outsiders Collab hosted by @fruityutas. Also part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection. 

Now playing: Fools - Troye Sivan, Without Love - Motion Picture Cast of Hairspray, Just Wanna Be With You - High School Musical Cast

The scent of hairspray lingered like smoke in the backstage areas, curling through rows of vanity bulbs and cracked linoleum floors. It was a Tuesday–always a Tuesday–when the studio lights buzzed hotter than usual, and the city’s golden kids rolled in with smiles lacquered like records. On camera, everything gleamed, but off camera, it was all duct tape, sweat, and powdered noses. 

There were two kinds of people in this town, the ones who owned the spotlight and the ones who held it up on their shoulders. 

The Socials, otherwise known as the Socs, cruised around in candy-colored convertibles, wallets fat with daddy’s money, and grins cleaned up to perfection. They wore clean, pressed clothes and carried names that opened doors. Their lives were picture-perfect, lacquered in fame and privilege. 

The Greasers? You guys clawed your way through life with dirt under your nails and oil in your veins. Your world was diner counters, cigarette breaks in the studio parking lot, and leather jackets that doubled as armor. You painted on your eyeliner like war paint and didn’t flinch when someone called you ‘rough around the edges’. Let them be scared. 

Recently, you had taken up work in the shadows behind the scenes of a weekly music show, touching up the kinds of people who never looked at you unless their powder ran dry. You weren’t one of them. Not even close. But still, every Tuesday, you stood behind the same cracked vanity lit by buzzing bulbs and the flicker of dreams that weren’t yours. 

You wiped your makeup-stained hands with a stained rag before tugging a stool toward the large vanity in front of you. Another Tuesday meant another round of perfecting faces that never saw a hard day’s work. You adjusted your cat-eye liner with the edge of your thumbnail, checking your reflection. Smudged, tired, yet still standing. 

“Dreamboys live in ten minutes,” barked the stage manager’s voice, a sharp call throughout the studio. 

In came your last task for the night, Renjun. A golden boy of the Soc scene. Perfect blazer, white teeth, hair so neat it could’ve been painted. The suit he wore likely cost more than your entire paycheck. His voice sent girls into shrieking frenzies as it was broadcast into homes all over the country. You’d seen the posters of him and his boy band, the Dreamboys. A bunch of clean-cut Socs with harmonies tight enough to sell innocence and fake rebellion all in one song.

He slid into your makeup chair without asking, his presence filling the room like he belonged there. His cologne was sharp but expensive with notes of citrus and power. His eyes flicked up to meet yours through the mirror. Cool and curious. 

“You always look this serious when you touch up the stars?” He asked, voice smooth like velvet.

You grabbed a powder puff and tapped it sharply against his cheek. “Only when they act like they burn brighter than the rest of us.”

He chucked. “Fair enough.” He looked at you with a hint of amusement. Something dangerous, something real. “You don’t belong back here,” he said quietly, like a confession. “You’ve got eyes like someone meant to be on stage.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands fell to the collar of his jacket, straightening it out. “And you’ve got the face of someone who’s never been told no.”

He laughed, light and airy. Something changed in the air between you. Perhaps it was just the heat of the lights or the static of the studio. 

“Dreamboys on standby in five,” the director's voice called. The hallways buzzed with movement. Staff scurried past while the producer was yelling something about lighting cues. Yet Renjun didn’t move. 

He lingered in your makeup station, perched in the seat with his legs splayed, watching you as you lined up your brushes with practiced precision. You dusted his cheeks with a final touch of blush, pulling back to assess your work before straightening his tie. With a nod of approval, you grabbed your puff to blot the shine off the tip of his nose, your free hand coming to his chin to hold him steady. 

You felt the way his breath hitched just slightly as his face sat in your hold, your hand brushing against his jaw. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lips pulled tight in concentration, before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

“You always this gentle?” He mused.

You clicked the powder compact shut. “You always this nosy?”

Before he could answer, someone shouted again from behind the camera. “Dreamboys, now! We’re rolling in two!”

Renjun slid off the chair with a reluctant sigh. He glanced back once, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re good at this,” he stated plainly.

“What? My job? I kinda have to be.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean, hiding how much you like me.”

You nearly threw your puff at him. “Break a leg, Dreamboy.”

He winked. “Only if you’re the one patching me up later.”

With that, he disappeared in the hustle of the studio, his polished shoes tapping against the floor and echoing in your ears long after he was gone.

[marleysfinest]

calibernus ryomen sukuna x reader (fem!reader) chapter: 8/? word count: 5,071 cw: depictions of violence, blood, mentions of vomit, suffocation

also available on AO3

SUFFOCATION

The bed sheets that engulf you are cool and soft, wrapping you tightly like a present and soothing your tired body. Even as you slowly wake you feel as if you're floating in a dream-like state, safe from the world and free to bask in the cool morning breeze from the warmth and safety of your duvet. Consciousness grips you fully but gently, and you slowly prop yourself up against the headboard. The window is cracked open enough for you to hear the morning birdsong and a church bell toll in the distance, and if you listen carefully enough you can make out the quiet hum of conversation as the ton takes its morning stroll through the streets of Mayfair. The sky is a clear and rich blue, the morning sun already hot and drenching London in unrelenting light. There's a sense of peace that's suddenly alien as you recall the sight of Haruto Kamo slumped lifelessly in the chair.

As the memory of what unfolded in the orangery fully comes back to you, your inner peace is shattered. No longer do the sheets feel inviting and comforting, but restraining and irritatingly present. Your heart rate quickens ever so slightly but you don't fall into a full panic. The image is distressing but not overwhelmingly so, despite the fact that it is suddenly everywhere in your mind's eye. But why aren't I feeling… more? It's less horror or terror that you feel - as you had felt only last night - but more discomfort, like you simply want to squirm your way out of the memory. You wish desperately that it had never happened but feel oddly accepting that it did; all you want is to learn how to never do it again.

You're about to climb out of bed and prepare for breakfast when there's a gentle knock at your door, and you pause. After calling for the guest to enter, you're surprised to see your grandmother, still in her nightgown and house coat, wearing a solemn expression.

"Good morning, my dear," she says softly.

"Good morning, Grandmama," you reply, instantly curious as to why she's not waiting for you at the breakfast table as usual.

"Might we speak in private?"

Panic strikes you. "Of course. Forgive me, I've not long been awake."

"No, no, you must stay as you are."

She steps into the room and closes the door gently behind her before perching at the end of your bed, and it's only then that you realise how distressed she looks.

"Haruto Kamo was found dead at the Walton residence in the early hours of this morning," she says bluntly, "murdered."

Bile rises in your throat as the panic you'd been searching for just moments ago awakes fully, and your hand flies to your mouth.

"I know," your grandmother says sympathetically, "it has sent… quite the shock throughout London."

"How… how awful," you feign, battling every instinct in your body that might let it slip that you are the reason Haruto Kamo is dead. "What happened? Are there any suspects?"

She shakes her head.

"No. The police will do what they can, but I fear they will not catch the culprit."

You lower your hand as the urge to vomit subsides.

"Why not?"

She sighs with a hint of reservation.

"I wish not to interrogate you. However, I feel it is my duty to ask, given your company at the Walton ball. Did Lord Sukuna, at any time, mention the Kamo clan?"

Your heart rate triples as you realise that she has correctly deduced that Lord Sukuna had something to do with Haruto's demise.

"N…No," you respond, "he never mentioned them." Until he put one in front of me at the end of the night. This doesn't appease your grandmother.

"Hm."

"You believe… you think that he has something to do with this?"

She meets your eye finally, looking genuinely lost.

"I no longer know what I believe," she sighs, "but I fear so, yes."

"Why?" you ask, immediately chastising yourself for sounding defensive, albeit by accident. It's not lost on your grandmother, whose brows twitch.

"There is much you do not know about Lord Sukuna," she says gravely. There's a wholly inexplicable twist in your stomach as she says this; for reasons you cannot fathom, you're suddenly irritated.

"There is much I do not know about many things," you reply, the anger bleeding through in your voice.

"Do not take that tone with me," she hisses.

"Then do not take me for a fool," you hiss back. The two of you fall into silence as neither is willing to back down. You maintain your steely and agitated exterior while, inside, trying to figure out where this anger, this confidence has come from.

"Tell me what you know if my ignorance displeases you," you continue, "otherwise you may leave me to make my own mistakes."

You cast the duvet off and swing your legs out of bed before marching towards your dressing room, silently dismissing your grandmother in a way you have never done before. The way she remains at the end of your bed suggests that you've stunned her into silence for the first time in either of your lives. You remain still, out of sight, until you hear the sound of her closing the door behind her as she leaves, wherein you let out a heavy sigh. You lean on your dressing table and take a deep breath, trying your hardest to ignore the beads of sweat forming on your forehead.

Feeling bruised black and blue from bouncing between guilt and grief and fear and anger, something snaps in your stomach and you decide that one answer through bloodshed is not enough. Accepting being treated like a child is a thing of the past; you will accept clear answers from now on, and nothing less. You hastily dress before calling for the footman to prepare the carriage, and sweep downstairs as you hear the approach of hooves from atop the staircase. With tunnel vision you head straight out of the door, ignoring your grandmother's cries behind you. Before slamming the carriage door shut, you instruct the driver to take you to the palace.

*

The carriage barely pulls to a stop in the courtyard when the door swings open, and Sukuna's frame fills the doorway. He tosses in a satchel before ordering the driver to head for Hampstead Heath while climbing into the carriage. The driver hesitates.

"Ma'am?!"

Despite feeling as stunned as the driver, you maintain steely eye contact with Sukuna, who glares at you smugly.

"Go." Your instruction is curt and to the point, and the driver prompts the horses onward to leave the palace behind.

For several moments the two of you remain locked in eye contact. You glare at him with all the anger you can muster but failing to suppress your fear, while he stares down at you with an entirely neutral expression.

"Why are we going to Hampstead Heath?" you ask, kicking yourself both for asking such a trivial and idiotic question and for breaking the silence first. You'd travelled to see him with the sole intention of demanding answers but instead, you'd let him take charge of the situation.

"Because it's time for you to stretch your wings and expand your mind."

Your eyes narrow. I like the sound of that. But I do not like you. I don't think.

"The last time I expended my mind, a man died. Haruto Kamo's body was discovered this morning," you say, changing the subject. He doesn't flinch at the news, he doesn't even blink.

"And?"

"Why leave him to be found?"

He shrugs. "I was tired."

Before you can stop yourself, you scoff in his face.

"You were tired? You kidnapped that poor man and stood idly by while I drained the life from him, only to leave him in that state for another poor soul to find him? Because you were tired?"

Instead of offering any argument or retaliation, Sukuna maintains his silence. There isn't a waver in his expression at all as you rant at him, which only riles you more, a frustration that quickly turns to embarrassment as you realise you've said all you wanted to say, and the words have dried up.

"Are you finished?" he asks. Immediately you recoil back to the coy, pathetic version of yourself that he'd been presented with so often, and feel foolish for your outburst.

"What was the point in letting him die?" you ask through gritted teeth. Sukuna sighs tiredly, and glances out of the window.

"If I had intervened, it was unlikely that you'd have been able to stop the absorption, thus I risked losing some of my own technique if I'd touched you. Similarly, I had no way of knowing whether interfering with the process would cause you any harm; letting the sorcerer die was the simplest option, not to mention the easiest way to prove your technique."

You slump back in your seat, finally realising that Sukuna genuinely does not care about Haruto Kamo's death, nor does he particularly care for your distress over the matter. It was a means to an end for him, nothing more. Accepting that there is little you're going to get from him in terms of remorse, you swallow the rage you'd had in reserve and push past the need to see him apologise or explain anything about the night before. With a deep breath, you regain your composure and turn your attention to the passing city out of the window, all the while feeling the heat of Sukuna's stare on your cheek. The buildings gradually begin to thin, and eventually the landscape blossoms into greener pastures as you finally approach Hampstead Heath.

The carriage slowly pulls to a stop, and the footman comes around to let you out. No sooner have your feet touched the ground does Sukuna instruct the driver to leave and not return until the evening. The driver looks to you for approval which you provide by way of a nod, and you are left alone.

Once the driver is fully out of sight, Sukuna looks to the near distance and you follow his line of sight to see Uraume, ready and waiting for their directions. How long have they been waiting here for? They remain still even with Sukuna's arrival, and their presence unnerves you not least as you'd expected to be alone with him. Sukuna shrugs off his haori and reveals his true form, stretching his four arms in the free air - it's a sight that still makes your stomach twist in a multitude of ways - and you notice he's clinging to the brown satchel in one hand. After limbering up he throws it at you and you fumble to catch it, and only then do you realise that this is your satchel.

"Change."

With your eyes flickering from the bag, to him, and back again, you open the bag to see a shirt and britches folded inside.

"A pretty dress does not lend itself well to what we're about to do."

"These are mine," you say indignantly, "how did you get them?"

Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"No more questions. Change."

Resisting the urge to act petulantly and refuse to do as he says without answers, you begin to pull the clothes from the bag when you realise you're in the middle of an open field.

"How do you expect neither of us to be noticed? How - "

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker still. Purify that which is impure."

Uraume's gentle tone catches you off guard, as you hadn't heard or notice them approach. You look to them, not sure what to expect and notice they have one hand raised in front of their face, with their forefinger and middle finger only raised to the sky. There's a gentle rumble in the sky above you, and as you look up, you see a grey aura emanating from a single point, like a drop of oil into water.

"There. You and I - and Uraume - can come and go as we please but nobody else will see us. Now, if you're finally satisfied, change."

Registering that Sukuna's tone had shifted, you do as you're told. He turns his back as Uraume helps you out of your dress and you hastily don the clothes. It's much more comfortable; you've always been fond of the comfort and ease of movement that trousers offer and frequently curse that you're not able to wear them more often. Uraume neatly folds your dress and slings the satchel over their shoulder, their work seemingly complete for now.

"What about shoes?" You wince as you fire another question at Sukuna, but did he expect you to keep on your heeled boots?

"You'll go barefoot." I shouldn't have asked.

Thinking better of risking an argument with yet another question, you do as he says and leave your boots neatly to one side, letting your feet sink into the grass. Your toes instinctively wiggle as they embed themselves in the blades; it reminds you of when you were little and would play outside with your brother in the countryside. It's a distinct and ironic sense of innocence.

"Air manipulation is the ability to control and contort the molecules of oxygen around you however you see fit," begins Sukuna, starting to pace around you like a caged tiger, "it's time to see if you can wield the technique as well as you can extract it."

Without as much of a second passing, Sukuna is no longer several meters away. He's immediately in front of you with a hand around your throat, and in a split second throws you into the air with as much effort as one would throw a stick into a river. The cavern of difference between your weight and his strength means that, while he hasn't hurt you, he's launched you very high. Before you can fully register what's happened, you've got a birds-eye view of the lush green heath and the city beyond, and no sooner have you reached your peak do you feel your stomach left behind as you start to plummet back towards the ground.

You flail helplessly as the air rushes past you, feeling simultaneously weightless and heavier than a sack of bricks. The ground approaches faster and faster and even in the throes of panic and screaming, you wonder what it'll feel like. Will it be instant? Will you feel yourself hit the ground, your brains splatter across the grass and your bones disintegrate? In a feeble, instinctive effort to break your fall, you hold your hands out in front of you and feel the air speeding between your fingers and around the palms of your hands.

Amongst the panicked thoughts, however, you're able to pluck out one - how you had extracted the technique from Lord Kamo. Intent.

There's a sudden pressure where the flow of air used to be, almost as if your hands are plunging through sand. You manage to focus and see a purple sheen outlining your hands and fingers, and you push harder against the sand. It grows more and more dense until you realise that your lower half is overtaking you; your hands are clinging on but the rest of your body is not. Like you're hanging from a ledge but still slipping towards the earth. With a rush of effort you push the energy around your whole body, and stop just a few feet from the ground.

Your concentration breaks, along with your cursed energy, and you thump onto the grass with a cry. As you roll onto your back your head lolls to one side, and you feel the blood in your body run cold as you see Sukuna already heading towards you - at speed. With teeth bared and a grin on his face, he plows towards you with two arms outstretched as he charges a hit. There's an entirely new layer to him; a beastly enjoyment coupled with an insatiable appetite. He's going to kill me. He's going to devour me. With your back still flat on the ground you hold up a hand in a feeble attempt to stop him and brace for the impact. The inevitable contact with his body, your arm snapping backwards, and his teeth sinking into you.

"NO!"

Your hand flies out and you turn away, squeezing your eyes closed, and you feel a pulse of energy boom from your palm. When there's no impact from his fist or his teeth you dare to look for Sukuna, and see him skidding backwards with his feet tearing up the earth, apparently having been knocked back.

"Impressive!" he calls, regaining his footing, "try to repel me on purpose this time instead of relying on accidents."

He slams a foot on the ground and there's a crack that rattles your bones, and you watch as the earth splits in front of you and begins to crumble. You scramble to your feet and hastily pick a side to stand on, but no sooner have you steadied yourself do you sense Sukuna coming for you again, and this time there's no opportunity to stop him.

His fist collides with your stomach and knocks the air clean out of you, the force sending you flying backwards until you land hard on the ground again. Winded, you writhe on your back unable to breathe. There's a blossoming pain in and around your stomach and the metallic taste coating your tongue suggests that you're bleeding. You roll onto your front and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the green grass, and grip your stomach as it radiates pain. You shakily try to bring yourself up onto your knees, but you've barely propped yourself up when you feel Sukuna's grip at the back of your head, and you're pulled to your feet by your hair. He brings you to his level, and puts his mouth to your ear.

"I've been wanting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you," he growls, "your blood smells every bit as delicious as I thought it would."

A shiver ripples down your spine, and you feel as if you're about to break apart at the seams when he places a hand on your stomach, and you tense with anticipation of another hit, but instead, the touch is gentle, almost soft, and a warmth overcomes you. In seconds, the pain is gone.

"Again."

With agonising repetition you continue; he smacks you down, heals you, you get up, and the cycle goes on. You can't seem to find a rhythm or repeat your control of your cursed energy, and take blow after blow trying to do so. Blood pours from your nose and leaks from the corners of your mouth, but for all of your pain and bleeding you'll walk away without even a battle scar to show for it. Why can't I do this? After yet another bone-shattering landing it's Uraume who has emerged from the sidelines to heal you, and Sukuna pauses his onslaught while you regain your breath. You notice that he's barely broken a sweat.

"I expected more," he says, "such a pathetic display from the jewel in the Wellington crown."

You discard another mouthful of blood and scoff. As you pull yourself up onto your knees, you wipe the stray hairs from your face and look up to him.

"Where did you get that idea?" you ask, heaving your breaths. He glares down at you with indifference. "I am not the only child nor am I the eldest, or male. What makes you think I am worth anything to my family?"

A flicker of something you swear is confusion crosses his face just for a second, and he pauses his pacing.

"Your mother and grandmother really did choose to condemn your entire family, didn't they?" he ponders out loud. With weak and trembling legs you return to your feet.

"If by 'condemn' you mean sealing me off from this world of horrors, then yes," you hiss as the breath fills your lungs, "I doubt very much that they wanted this affliction for me, and instead thought that by sparing me of its knowledge, they'd spare me from it entirely."

Sukuna flashes his teeth as he barks a laugh, throwing his head back in glee.

"Ignorance!" he cries, "they have the key to power in the palm of their hand and yet -"

"ENOUGH!"

The scream scrapes your throat on its way out.

"Enough of the veiled information, of treating me like an infant who cannot understand nor manage what's happening to me! I have been told in no uncertain terms for years that I am growing too old, do not treat me now as if I am too young. Speak with me plainly, or do not speak with me at all."

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Is that so?" he purrs, "then tell me - why do you still handle yourself like a child?"

Anger wells in the pit of your stomach as Sukuna angles himself, and instinctively you brace yourself - in a blink, he'll be upon you.

"I am a child in your eyes because I've not been gifted the knowledge I deserve. Because everyone around me is too preoccupied with wasting their breath on telling me how inferior I am," you spit, "perhaps they know that if they give themselves yes another reason to gossip then the words might suffocate them."

"Or," says Sukuna calmly, "perhaps you just aren't worth it."

It's the last thing you hear before Sukuna kicks off again towards you. Your stomach hardens as it prepares for a blow, but you also bring an arm up in an attempt to block him, and in doing so send another sweeping gust of air in his direction which knocks him off course. Instead of losing your focus to surprise, you attempt to throw another one. It hits. It isn't stopping him from moving, but it's catching him out just enough to give you time to think. You really focus on the sensation; your cursed energy thrumming evenly throughout your body, the clear vision of what the air around you will do at your will.

Sukuna has already become accustomed to the gusts of wind as he avoids the next two attacks, and you realise it's time to change tactics. You remember how you were able to hold on to the air as you were falling and attempt to recreate it - but focusing the energy on your feet.

You begin to step backwards and, maintaining your focus, are able to ascend on the air like a staircase, manipulating the air in such a way that makes it like brick and mortar beneath your feet. Standing on the particles feels like being on a beach, the air itself like sand. Soon, you're in the air six meters above Sukuna.

"Finally!" he calls, still heading in your direction, "results at last. You've yet to impress me again, however."

He speeds up and suddenly leaps into the air to bring himself level with you.

"At least honour yourself with some effort," he says through gritted teeth, baring his claws for another strike, "give yourself a reason to knock the breath out of that old hag you call a grandmother."

Fuelled by fury you swipe at him first to send another gust at him, but at the last moment you steady your hand as it hovers over him and focus on just his air. For a split second his eyes go wide enough for you to see the entirety of his scarlet iris, and he pauses his attack and falls back down to the ground. You lower yourself, not for a moment letting your focus waver, watching in awe as he crouches on one knee, and the faintest sound of a struggle escapes his lips. Just as the colour in his face starts to change to a hue more resembling his hair, you release, and he can't stop the loud inhalation that follows. You had focused solely on the air in Sukuna's lungs, dragging it out of him like sand through an hourglass, and in that moment not even he could do anything about it.

Having watched everything from the sideline, your feet are suddenly frozen in place as Uraume reveals their technique to break your focus and release Sukuna, running towards you both at full speed. The skin on your shins begin to burn from the enormous shards of ice suddenly protruding from the ground, and you watch as they summon another attack only to be stopped by Sukuna raising his hand. Through heavy breaths, he begins to chuckle.

"Well, well. Look who woke up."

It's the first time you've heard him speak with any hint of strain or breathlessness, and you note how odd it feels to see a more human side of him, despite knowing the opposite. Uraume's ice holds you firmly in place as you watch Sukuna get back on his feet with a look of genuine enjoyment on his face. You'd started to suffocate him and he'd enjoyed it? He assumed his familiar position of towering over you and looks down, seemingly less disappointed than when you'd started.

"Do that to me again and I'll make sure it's you who draws your final breath," he warns, lowering his voice severely despite his expression softening. "But… I'm impressed."

He scratches his chin as the colour returns to his face.

"We're done for today. You've proved that you might just be as valuable as I'd hoped in securing what I need. Uraume, dismiss the veil. And the ice."

Your muscles remain tensed as you suspect he's lying in an attempt to catch you off-guard, but he turns his back on you fully with his attention now on Uraume who greets him holding out his neatly folded haori. They flick their wrist and the ice around your shins disintegrates, while Sukuna returns to his more familiar visage with his additional arms hidden.

"What exactly is it that you want?" you ask, feeling your fingers begin to tremble. He cracks his neck from side to side and rolls his shoulders as he considers his response.

"Your family has something of value to me," he replies, and for a moment you're surprised that he's actually telling you anything. "Or, rather, you have access to it through your lineage."

Your confusion deepens. "How do I have access to it if I do not even know what it is that you seek?"

Sukuna turns his attention to you once again and makes his way nearer, eventually eclipsing the sun.

"Your ancestral home sits west of here and somewhere within its grounds, or at the very least its jurisdiction, is an object I will claim for myself."

His arrogance is repulsive - he's so certain that he'll take this supposed heirloom with your help. The distaste clearly shows on your face, and Sukuna smirks.

"You think of me as rude, how sweet. I hand you the keys to your freedom and still you are repulsed by my conviction."

As much as you try to suppress it, the heat rushes to your face at his assessment.

"You admit to your desire to rob my family home. How would you have me react?"

"I'd have you be grateful, for a start," he answers quickly, "but that is perhaps beyond your remit as a Duke's daughter."

"You are rude," you spit immediately, "your tongue is foul and your actions moreso."

Sukuna raises an eyebow as his smirk grows.

"I've heard quite the opposite about my 'foul' tongue."

Your stomach flips as you have a visceral response to his quip.

"Do not mistake my disgust for ungratefulness," you argue, "you have taught me more in these last few days than my grandmother has in my whole life, and for that I am grateful. But if you wish for my further cooperation then you must also play your part. And to do so you would do well to cease tormenting me with your vulgar quips."

Sukuna rolls his eyes. "So sensitive."

"I mean it," you insist, "trying to claim this object you speak of through brute force will work, I'm sure, but there is an easier way. You may enjoy the thrill of the chase but it is not I who can extend an invitation to our country home; only my father can do that."

Finally, you've fully captured his attention.

"And… at present, he is less than enamoured by you."

Sukuna's growing smirk alone is enough to tell you that he'll wear your father's dislike as a badge of honour.

"Tell me, then, how shall I secure this much coveted invitation?"

Harnessing whatever bravery you have left in the pit of your stomach, you brace for what you are about to propose.

"It… it will have to be through a courtship," you stammer, "the pretense of one, anyway. My father may not like you but he will not argue the matter if he believes your intention is to…"

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

"To marry you?"

A fist grips your stomach as you hear the words, wishing not to dwell too much on the proposal but knowing it's the safest route forward. There is no doubt in your mind that Sukuna already knows where your family home is, and it was true, if he wanted to get his way through force, he could. But knowing that he's willing to do anything to get his way, this is the one way you can think of that leads to the least bloodshed. In theory, anyway.

"Yes," you whisper, attempting to regain your composure, "your social standing and prospects are not something he will refuse. He will swallow his pride, I am sure of it."

Sukuna observes you carefully as he deliberates. While he had preferred finding a more direct route to his goal, he cannot deny that this is certainly the more interesting path. Never had a victim of his attention ever attempted to bargain for their or their family's lives using courtship before. From what he could see, time is on his side, so why not play with his food a little while longer?

"Very well," he agrees with a grunt, "gird your loins, little dove. You've enticed me enough into having some fun."

18+ divider by @/cafekitsune

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

[carrotsworld]

late night drive

idol! eric x reader

genre: angst, fluff

in where, you reunite after a long time of being in a long distance relationship with eric.

“just tell me you love me.”

a/n: i have no idea why it became a full blown angst. yes, this is inspired by voyaze. for @cuppasunu. eric is such a green flag. #may this kind of love find me. (i'm still stuck on soft spot). anybody wants a part two? feel free to send an ask! (suggestions are open too, if anyone has ideas) @deoboyznet 1.8k words

you hadn’t seen eric in months. not properly, at least. late night calls at ungodly hours of the day (him and you both due to the terrific time difference), text messages, or just voice messages (when both your schedules were full), but none of them compared to this. to being here. with him.

he reached for your hand in the passenger seat, intertwining his hand with yours as he drove down the quiet roads of incheon to seoul. the windows were down, the cool autumn breeze blowing gently as you looked at the night scenery of seoul.

soft spot played softly in the background.

one of your favourite songs.

“even in your car you play my favourite songs.” you murmured, your eyes drifting back to him.

eric glanced at you. “it’s what reminds me of you.”

it was rare that your break and his break from his schedules managed to line up. so as soon as he heard the news, he confirmed the dates with you and immediately booked you a flight to korea (though you did fight him to give you the bill, in which he didn’t.)

“i’ll make sure to drive you around when you visit.” you teased. “though i would say that my driving skills are a little… rusty. it’s been some time since i drove.” 

eric laughed under his breath. “i would really like that. plus, i can always take over the wheel if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“even though we are right-hand driven?”

“even that.” he smiled. “i’ll just have to get used to it.” 

anything for you. 

he noticed the way you looked out the window, the way you smiled, though it almost didn’t reach your eyes. the way you looked at the unfamiliar streets with longing.

“you miss home.”

“i do.” you admitted softly.

it had been a year since you last went back to your home country, as you told yourself you had one year left before you would have finished your studies. you just had to pull through.

your fingers gently ran over his knuckles, slow and light, tracing each of its ridges. “i missed you too.”

the last time you had met, it was when he had a concert in the country you were temporarily residing in. he only had a few days off, and even then, it was mostly stolen hours and airport goodbyes.

but this time, you were here with him. even so, you were only staying for two weeks. 

“i think i missed you more.” he grins, lightening the mood.

you gasped, narrowing your eyes at him. “debatable.”

he pulled the car into an empty parking lot, one that you remembered being hangang park’s. he opened your door, pulling you into his arms before your feet even touched the ground.

in the quiet of the night, it was peaceful. 

deep down, you did wish that you could be with him more freely, without having to fear the cameras or paparazzi. living without the fear of getting caught.

he did bring it up. he was willing to risk it all. for you.

but you knew what was on the line. you couldn’t.

he tightened his arms around you, afraid that you would disappear if he let go. afraid that it was all just a dream. “i missed you so much, y/n. you can’t even imagine.” he mumbled into your hair.

you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist. “i can imagine.” you whispered softly, pressing your cheek against his chest. “because i feel the same.”

the cool air nipped at your cheeks, but it felt like home. he felt like home.

he pulled back slightly, his thumb lightly brushing under your eye. “you have been crying lately, haven’t you?”

you looked away. “i thought i had gotten better at hiding it.”

eric cupped your face, gently tilting it to face him. “don’t.” he whispered. “don’t hide it when you’re with me.”

your eyes met his, filled with longing, sincerity. “y/n,” he said, barely audible. “please just tell me you love me.”

your breath hitched. sure, you’ve said it thousands of times before. through calls, and text messages. but being here physically with him, being able to touch and feel him, felt different. felt real.

you know he needed to hear it. to really hear it.

“i love you, eric.”

he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment.

“i promise i’ll take care of you.” he whispered. “i’ll wait for you until you’re ready. just say the word and i’ll be there. whether it’s in your country or mine, or anywhere in the world. as long as i’m with you.”

you knew he’d take care of you. even his members knew. he always did. 

juyeon had teased him this morning. “you don’t even want to pick me up from the airport at 2p.m.”

and yet, eric had been there for you at 1a.m. in the morning, dressed in his hoodie and sweats (with a cap on), waiting for you at the arrival gate. his eyes were barely open (he told you it was the last day of his schedule), an iced peach tea in his hand (no, he still doesn’t like and doesn’t drink coffee), and a smile too wide for someone who was barely running on any sleep. 

that was how eric loved you. not loud. not reckless. 

but steady. constant.

he would always make sure that he stacked up all of your favourite korean snacks when you visited. (or, he would stuff them in his suitcase whenever he had the chance to visit you). he would always try to call you when it was daylight in your time zone (or, when you were still awake), because he said he didn’t want to interrupt your sleep. (because he said sleep is important, but it sometimes included ungodly hours on his side, setting alarms, and ducking out of rehearsals for a short period of time, just to call you).

even on the busiest of days when calling wasn’t an option, he would leave voice messages, a glimpse into his life. 

“it’s getting cold in seoul now, i bet it’s even colder at your place. remember to dress warmly and don’t catch a cold.”

that was eric.

that was love.

you smiled quietly at the thought. “you do take care of me, eric. you remember all the little things, even when we’re thousands of miles apart.” 

“because you’re important to me.” he said softly, his eyes filled with quiet adoration, looking at you as if you were the only person in the world. his world. “those little things are never little when it comes to you.”

he reached up to tuck your hair gently behind your ear. “let’s make the most of these two weeks.” he murmured.

you nodded. “i want to see all your favourite places.”

he grinned boyishly. “you can count on me. i have a whole list of places to go. you’re getting the full seoul experience by an idol.”

you laughed. “you have to take me to that place where you swore by their kimbap.”

“that was a hidden gem, really.” 

“of course it is.” you teased.

“i know it’s not much time,” he said. “but i want it to be as memorable as possible. every little thing.”

you leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “if it’s with you, i’ll remember.” 

“are you hungry?” he asked. “we can start off the tour with a midnight convenience store run.”

“let’s go.”

even if it was just two weeks.

even if your heart aches knowing that you had to say goodbye again.

you were here. with him.

and maybe, that was just enough for now.

[kaltain-1]

I Had A Dream

Well last night I had a weird dream. I don’t actually remember much of the dream but one part in particularly stayed with me. There was a flash of light and when I opened my eyes I saw different creatures from the Avatar universe. Now I don’t know why but all of a sudden I thought; “hey, wouldn’t it be so cool if the TWST were creatures from Avatar.” Don’t ask me where that came from it just did. At first I was dreaming about a haunted kids camp and you couldn’t go out in the dark or else monsters would come after you and there was a witch then it flicked to Avatar. So yeah, I guess that’s an idea… I’m not really planning to do something with that(see I have SOME self control) just putting this here so I’ll remember.

[mrrcasuallycruell]

so i'm getting lasik tomorrow...in like 12 hours from now and i'm so nervous and excited at the same time. hope it goes well

[madamechrissy]

Well, are you mine?

Pairings: Sukuna x fem reader

Summary- You're Yuuji Itadori's best friend since forever, and his older brother Sukuna is a grade A ass to you. After a nasty breakup with your ex, you text Yuuji who's out for the night, he gives you the go ahead to stay at his place. But it's only Sukuna there, and he is oddly comforting? You've had it bad for him forever, but little do you know, so has he, even if he doesn't show it, because Sukuna thinks Yuuji loves you (ahem, he's WAY wrong) Porn w/feelings, best friend's brother trope, Duo POVS

CW- Modern Sukuna, he's a gamer and tsundere af lol, this is SMUTTY asf, loss of virginity (don't mention much abt it aside from reader is one) Sukuna is ROUGH lol, oral sex (m and f recieving) overstimulation, dirty talk, Sukuna calls reader brat and slutty, lowkey breed kink, possessiveness, marathon sex lol. Sukuna is BAD AT FEELINGS lmaooo, but he whimpers? Reader- 20, Sukuna 25- 6.4k WC!

Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one!

You’re walking out in that pathetic excuse for a tank top and the most revealing shorts that morning when Sukuna sees you, peeking up from his monitor, proceeding to get sniped like some damn noob when he sees your nipples perk up through the material. He curses loudly, slamming off his headset then, you look at him in surprise, lips parted just so.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, he glares at you then, standing up as he takes you in, irritated you have such an effect.

“What are you doing here? Yuuji isn’t even home until tonight.” He says with a glare, ruby eyes glinting, you tense just a bit, Sukuna is tall and intimidating, and constantly an asshole.

“He said it was fine, here’s the text.” You swipe up on your phone, he snorts as he looks at it.

“You have a teddy bear case? Stupid.” Your eyes narrow in irritation when he picks up the phone, scoffing as he sees the texts. “God. What a simp you’re making him.”

“What now? Am not even! He’s my best friend, not that you’d understand, you don’t even have any. You’re such an ass.” You snatch your phone back from him, earning his scowl.

“You’re an annoying brat, y’know that? If Yuuji didn’t simp so badly I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

“Whatever! Ugh.”

“Why’d you need to come here anyway? Boyfriend piss you off?” You sigh, crossing your arms, just pressing your breasts up more for his view.

“He cheated on me.” Sukuna pauses then, hearing the hurt in your voice, seeing it on your pretty face, annoyingly pretty face.

“Shit.” Is all he manages, and you sigh, looking at him then, emotions in the back of your throat.

“That was mean of me to say, that you have no friends. I know you do… I’m sorry I said it.” His mouth opens, then closes, his brows lowering.

“You’re always bitchy to me, it doesn’t surprise me.”

“And you’re always an ass to me.”

“Tch, I’m not gonna fawn over you like your little best friend does, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, every time I stay or hang out you tell me you can’t wait for me to leave, or are just mean as shit.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, looking up at the ceiling then, it’s true he is mean to you constantly.

Every time you stay, he’s picking on you or making snide remarks, to the point he’s made you cry sometimes, and then felt like shit. Nothing was worse than seeing you cry, but he didn’t know what else to do, because you’re haunting his every dream, even last night he was stroking his cock to a stupid Instagram picture of you.

The thing is, Sukuna wants you, and wants you badly, so much it makes him pathetic, his little brother’s best friend, who Sukuna knows has had some stupid crush on since forever. Sukuna’s only five years older than you, but twenty just seems too young, you seem too inexperienced, too innocent and sweet, the last thing you needed was him around you.

And he knew you had some little crush on him, most of knowing him, you used to literally make doe eyes at him, he found it sort of cute at first, but now you’re a whole woman, walking around in nothing half the time. He was happy you got a boyfriend, despite the odd clench in his chest from hearing it, only because he wouldn’t have to see you as much.

So, the best course of action?

Make you hate him, and he thinks it’s worked, you don’t make doe eyes, you’re not fawning over him, or pathetically trying to flirt. No, you’re just as mean to him as he is to you now, god and you scowling and flipping him off? That turns him on more than fucking anything, unfortunately.

“Fuck him.” Sukuna says, and you’re shocked for a moment, as you stare up at the guy you’ve had it bad for since you can remember, Yuuji’s older brother, you thought he was so cool, you were always coming over more and more to see him.

Yuuji was the best friend in the world, so it wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy hanging out with him, it’s just your mind kept wandering, Sukuna was always a grump, but something shifted in the past couple of years, especially this year. He was downright mean and nasty to you, making jokes, pinching on you, ruffling your hair, rolling his eyes whenever you were near.

If his goal was to make you hate him, you don't, you just really can't stand him. Can't stand seeing him shirtless seeing the tattoos around his biceps, down his strong chest, hate seeing his stupid abs that have abs!?! Why does he have to be such an attractive ass, you don't know, but your crush hasn't gone away.

It's worse.

Last night you'd seen Sukuna was here when you'd used the key Yuuji let you have, he was crashed out on the couch sprawled out, movie ended, you'd covered him with a blanket and given him a pillow. In his sleep he almost looked sweet, you thought, having slept in the guest room, he'd swirled in your mind, your boyfriend having cheated hurt, but thankfully you hadn't taken that step with him…

No, you stupidly still wanted Sukuna as your first.

As if that would happen, he hates you so much clearly, and you have seen the girls he brought over, older and more experienced, more confident and worldly. You weren't there yet, especially when the man you're wanting doesn't see you as anything but a little brat.

“Sukuna, are you comforting me?” Sukuna scoffs.

“Of course I'm not, but also… he's a fucking idiot. You don't deserve someone who does that shit.” You blink back tears then, stepping to him, hugging him.

Sukuna freezes, as he inhales that scent, something floral and irritatingly delicious, your soft breasts pressing against his chest, your nipples taut under the tank top. You're tiptoeing, holding him around his chest, he grimaces, wanting to pick you up and drag you to his room, but he shoves at you.

“Annoying brat, off me god.” You shake your head, snuggling closer, when he realizes you're crying. It annoys him how you wrench his heart when you look up, tears falling out of your stupidly pretty eyes.

Did you have to affect him this way?

“Thank you, Kuna.”

“Don't call me that, ugh.” He places his huge hands at your waist to shove you off, but you gasp at it, taking over your waist, burning your skin then. He falters, his breath coming faster as he holds you there, just a little off of him, eyes going to your lips, tempting him to no end. “Stupid nickname.” He grumbles.

“I… you used to not mind it. What happened to make you hate me so much?” You whisper, hands slipping up his chest, so much revealed in the soft white shirt he's wearing, you feel his heart thudding under your hand.

“Don't hate you, just you're annoying.”

“How?”

“Just being here.”

“So I annoy you just existing?”

“Yes.” He speaks through clenched teeth, when you lean back, and he views your body. “Why do you fucking dress like that!?”

“It's comfy. What do you care, Kuna?”

“Stop it with the stupid nickname. Your… your body annoys me.” He is whispering now, hands slipping down your hips, you let this little sound out from the back of your throat that destroys him then.

“My body, what not your type? Don't wanna see it?”

“You're so fucking stupid.”

“How can a body piss you off? Ah!” Sukuna had you picked up now right on the kitchen counter, your breaths come in pants at getting handled like this, his big hands on your thighs, his eyes boring into you.

“All I can think about is all the ways I wanna fucking ruin you for any stupid boy you'll ever meet.” Your heart thuds in your chest, blinking rapidly as if you're in a fucking dream.

“Wh-what?” He moans softly, rough pads of his fingers slipping up your thighs, watching the goosebumps rise everywhere.

“Thinking how good your little pussy tastes, how pretty your tits must be, how your face would look fucked out.” You're moaning out loud when he finds you then, lips hovering just an inch from yours, he moans when he finds your slick cunt dripping, he laughs then, softly. “That wet for me? Haven't even done shit.”

“Shut up and touch me, please, Sukuna.” The way that his name sounds from your lips? Your eyes dilating? Your wet cunt on his fingers? His cock starts throbbing from touching you, watching your face when he shoves a finger in your hole, you grip him like a vise.

“Anyone ever made you cum? Any of your dumb boys?” You grip his wrist when his fingers curl in your gummy walls, finding that spot instantly and pressing on it, making you gasp as you gush down his fingers. “Fuck you're wet, why are you so stupid tight, fuckin feel you…”

“Don't know… I… Kuna, m’a v-virgin, ngh!” He yanks away then, panic on his face. “Don't stop, please.”

“A virgin, how the fuck?” You whine out as he backs off, sucking you off his fingers, his cheeks moaning, those crimson eyes dilated, the hottest thing you have ever seen. “Why do you taste so good? God I can’t stand you.”

“Kuna, please… just…”

“No, I won’t do that, I sure the fuck won’t take that. How are you even…”

“I’ve been waiting.” You murmur, earning his brows raised, barring you on either side with his strong arms, leaning close.

“You what now?”

“For you, stupid.” Sukuna cups your face with one hand, hot as your overheated cheek, so close your breaths mingle.

“No way, I’m not doing that, it’s bad enough I even touched you, now you’ll be all I can think about, annoying little brat ruining me.” His words hit, your pussy throbbing around nothing then, you lean your head and kiss his palm, melting him as you do. “Don’t do shit like that.”

“Do you want me?” You ask, thighs on either side of him.

“What do you think?” He grabs your hips, and you feel him, huge and hard against you over the fabric of his pants and your shorts, he grabs you tight, you’re looking at those lips, usually in a smirk or a sarcastic grin, so pouty right now, begging for your kisses.

“Doesn’t have to be anything serious-”

“How can you say that? No, it would be.” You would end him the moment he got inside you, he already knows it, tasting your sweet arousal on his tongue, looking at the color your cheeks are tinged, imagining your face as his cock leaks precum against his boxers.

“I can be… casual…” You’re grinding on him, you’ve never felt this, the longing for him in this way, you’re jutting your chin up, trying to kiss him, but he pulls his face away, shaking his head. “Kiss me.”

“No way.” He won’t be able to stop, at least at this point he can rip himself off of you, taking several breaths, turning away from how delectable you look sitting with your thighs spread on his counter.

“I’ve seen all the women you bring over the years, why not me? You clearly are casual about it?” You hate the emotions in your throat. “Am I not…”

“If you say some dumb shit like you’re not attractive, I swear you’ll piss me off. Look at you.”

“You won’t look at me.”

“I can’t right now, I won’t just fuck you, especially your… first I… can’t. Just drop it, just forget it even happened.” You jump off the counter then, breathing fast, heart nearly pounding out of your chest.

“I’m sorry I asked.” He curses as you run off to the room, his head is spinning from your scent, your taste, the images now burned in his brain, your slick still on his fingertips.

He could never just take your virginity, what if he hurt you? What if he hurt you emotionally, he sure his entire life has never had a real girlfriend, he’s had hookups and booty calls, that’s it. And for the past year he’s pictured you half the time when he’s played with himself, when he’s slept with them, but he can’t do that, you deserved better than him surely.

You’re all dressed now, you stand there and look at him, he hates the tears that have streaked down your face, your bag on your shoulder. “You don’t have to leave, just leave me alone.” He says then, and you laugh without humor, shaking your head.

“I can’t face you after that, too embarrassing. Don’t even tell Yuuji I came over, please.” You go to leave and Sukuna stops you, a hand on the knob above you, his hard body towering behind you, you feel so small next to him, god who didn’t?

Sukuna runs his fingers down your spine, you shiver from the sensation, he leans close, his lips against your ear. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“No?” You look at him then, noses touching, so close.

“Everyone wants me, it’s fine brat.” He smirks, you glare then, smacking at his hand on the knob and pulling open the door.

“Fuck you, Sukuna.” You say, he grins at you like the asshole he is, but when you shut the door behind you, you don’t see him cursing himself, forehead resting on the door, his stomach sick.

Why’d he do that?

Why couldn’t he just give you what you wanted, what he wants so badly?

He’s terrified to disappoint you, but he already has.

*****

Two Weeks Later

“Please stay for dinner!? Please, please, please!” Yuuji begs you, literally on his hands and knees bowing, you giggle, shaking your head.

“No, I can’t… your brother-”

“He won’t bother you, he just yells at the game, it’s fine! Never used to bother you, and I miss you.” He looks up with sweet honey eyes, making you sigh then, nodding, he jumps up all excited. “Perfect, I need to show you the recipe my brother Cho showed me!”

“How is he? I miss him.” You say softly, Yuji’s other brother lived far away now, he was a sweetheart, much unlike Sukuna.

“He’s doing so well, his band is so popular now. I’ll tell him you said hi! You know he thought you were so pretty.”

“Cho did? No way.”

“Well who doesn’t, even Sukuna does.” You pause then, faltering as you look at the kitchen, where he’d had a long, thick finger inserted in your little hole. Where he’d tasted you.

“Um, I doubt all that. He hates me.” Yuuji shakes his head, checking his phone then. “Your girl?”

“We’re not dating yet, just talking, but we are going to a movie tonight. You know her, yeah?”

“Yes, she was so sweet in school.”

Sukuna walks in as Yuuji shows you their texts, his eyes darting to you, taking in your little pleated skirt and top with some dumb anime character you liked on it, you looked fucking adorable. So cute he hates it, so he scowls at you, earning your scowl right back, as Yuuji looks between you both.

“Woah, calm down. Sukuna, I have a date!” Sukuna’s heart drops, Yuuji surely would be good enough for you, he’s sweet (annoyingly sweet) and devoted. Choso and Yuuji were sweet, he’s not sure how he got all the asshole of the family, but he supposed it came from taking care of them both, being the oldest.

He should be a little relieved, you’d leave him alone now, right? You wouldn’t give him that look, he would finally know you’re untouchable, he clears his throat now, hating that his heart feels like it’s ripped in half. Just two weeks ago, the last time he saw you, he’d felt your heat, he’d had you begging for him, but he turned you down.

He did this.

“Finally, you two are going on a date, huh?” He says, trying to act casual, and Yuuji snorts, shaking his head, as your eyes go wide.

“Us, no! We’re too close, we’d never ruin our friendship. Though I sure asked her out a lot in school.”

“You tried.” You say with a little smile, as Sukuna stands there dumbfounded. “You’d never have liked dating me, I hate your zombie movies too much.”

“You have the worst taste, it’s true. Now, Sukuna, it's this girl…” Yuuji starts going on, and Sukuna can barely hold his composure, as he shows him a picture of her, as he’s rambling.

He was convinced his brother was in love with you, it’s a huge reason he has pushed you so far away, he’d never dishonor him like that, even if he knew you didn’t feel the same. He struggles to focus now, as you look down nervously, as if you could hear his thoughts, feel what he wants so badly.

“Thought you simped for the brat here.” He says, Yuuji laughs.

“No, she’s just a beautiful best friend.” He kisses your cheek and you smile warmly at him, it lights up your face, doing the annoying thing to his heart again. “If you’re not so mean, maybe she’ll stay for dinner.”

“Me, mean? Never.” You and Yuuji both roll your eyes at him.

“I don’t have to stay, Sukuna, I was just stopping by.” Your words break him down, remembering how mean he was, and he didn’t apologize, why should he though?

He should have said something.

You’re feeling his gaze on you, as he runs a hand through his pastel locks, the same shade as Yuuji but his are longer, messier, he has a little stubble on his cheeks you don’t remember seeing. As you further look, you see the dark circles under his eyes, how tense he is when he opens his mouth, just to close it, and re open it again, as if he doesn’t know what to say.

Sukuna is… on edge?

“You can stay, what do I care? Used to your ass around anyway.” He walks to his room then, and Yuuji excitedly talks to you, but your mind is in that room, with that asshole of a man.

The dinner is awkward as fuck, and when Yuuji leaves to get ready for his date, you hastily start washing your dish, you feel his gaze on you, he’s leaned back in the chair with his legs wide. You don’t dare say a word to him, you’re too mortified still, too confused, his one touch with no kiss has done more than anything you’ve experienced so far.

Awakened shit that was already there.

Made it worse.

“So you two never…” Sukuna trails off, leaving the question open, you look back at him as you dry your hand with a dish towel.

“Never what, dated? Of course not.”

“I thought the kid had it bad for you.” His voice is quiet, you clear your throat, shaking your head then.

“No, I tried to tell you, just friends. Yuuji is sweet and I love him, but I’ve never felt that way… like I…” Like with Sukuna. “Yeah, anyway, the girl is so sweet. I’ll head out when he does, don’t worry.”

Sukuna’s standing next to you before you can blink, he’s wearing this black dress shirt unbuttoned just so, revealing too much of his strong chest, pecs that are ridiculous, your eyes keep darting to it. To those collar bones, the black lines running along, making you wonder just where his tattoos stop, you physically back up, looking away then, unable to even look in his eyes.

“Running away, brat? Scared?” He raises a brow, you blink then, shaking your head. “Yeah you are.”

“Scared of what?”

“I’m ready guys! Oh… are you two gonna… hang out?” Yuuji asks with a little smile, you’re blushing then, shaking your head.

“Hang out with him? What, no.” Sukuna’s jaw clenches now, you smile as you feel how mad he is. “What?”

“What’s so wrong with me?”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re a-”

“Okay, dumb question, don’t kill each other.” Yuuji does a little spin then, showing off his outfit, you giggle. “How do I look?”

“Amazing!” He kisses your cheek and hugs you then, just the sight of that alone has Sukuna infuriated, imagining kissing you.

What do your lips feel like?

Would they end him?

“She’s staying, she’s gonna… game with me.” Sukuna says then, you and Yuuji both look at him with shock. “Yeah, brat wants some lessons on Call of Duty.”

“Lessons? You game?” You want to burst out in laughter, the only video games you play involve very hot men on your phone.

Sukuna eyes you though, so intense it’s hard to breathe, you smile then, a little shy almost, realizing what he wants even though he’s not saying it. He wants to spend time with you, this shithead, this asshole of a man, he’s… he’s trying to express that he wants you to stay. And, to stay alone with him.

“I do wanna learn though, plus we should try to get along, hmm?” You look right at Sukuna, he’s not smirking or grinning, he’s vulnerable for a moment. His full lips parted just so in surprise.

“This makes me so happy. I love you both so much! If he pisses you off too bad, just text me.”

“What would you do, kid?” He demands.

“I’d… well I’d tell you to be nice.”

“I love you too.” You tell Yuuji then, and he runs off now to his date, leaving you alone in the kitchen again, with Sukuna. “Video games, huh?”

“Video games.” He answers, and before you know it, he’s right in front of you, gently holding you by your face, in a sweet manner you’d never think he could. “I want you, fuck I’ve wanted you for a long time now… but I thought you…” He’s trailing off, words escaping him.

“You thought Yuuji loved me, and you couldn’t do that.” You answer, everything starting to click now.

“That and you irritate the shit out of me. I don’t like what I feel.”

“What do you feel, Sukuna?” You step forward, arms wrapping around his thick waist then, he gulps visibly.

“Too much.” Is all he says, eyeing your lips hungrily.

“Maybe I feel too much. It’s scary, yeah?”

“I’m not scared of shit.” He’s leaning closer, you’re aching for him to just kiss you, licking your lower lip, tantalizing him as it turns glossy.

“If you’re not scared, then why are you so afraid to kiss me?” You whisper the words, his eyes flutter shut, a hand gripping your hair then at the nape of the neck, pulling it just so.

“Because I won’t stop there, I won’t stop till I’ve kissed every part of your body, till I’ve licked every part, until you’re cumming all over me.” Your little whimper from the back of your throat ruins him, he slams his lips down then, and it’s over.

Your kiss is messy, it’s desperate and sloppy, your tongues dripping saliva as he lifts you suddenly, you cling to him, thighs squeezing narrow hips, arms around his neck, your hand drifts through his undercut just so. He’s moaning as he kisses you so brutally, carrying you until you’re against a wall, pressing you there, you gasp for a breath while he starts licking down your throat.

“Kuna…” You’re arching against him, clinging tightly as he bites your throat, his big hands gripping your ass and squeezing.

“Hate that nickname. Hate how much I like it. Fuck you.”

You scowl, pulling away. “Fuck me for what?”

“Being so stupidly pretty. Driving me crazy forever. Fuck you for tasting so good, too.” You’re opening your mouth to protest, but he’s already carrying you to his bed, unceremoniously plopping you down on it, yanking off your top then, your breasts heave as your breaths come quickly, and he eyes you. “Fuck you for perfect tits.”

“Fuck you for being a dick.” You counter, but he’s gripping your breasts in his huge hands, squeezing them, sucking on your nipples, your hands enwrap in his pastel locks as he looks up at you, saliva strings dripping from your breasts. “Fuck that… feels s’good…”

“Fuck your sexy little moans, too.” You can’t be mad, not when he’s got your skirt off you, not when he’s ripping your panties to shreds, not when he eyes your pussy hungrily, shaking his head as he nips your inner thigh. “And fuck if you don’t have the most perfect pussy, what the…”

“Kuna, you’re c-crazy.” You whisper, he laughs then, breath tickling your cunt as he parts your plump lips, inhaling you like some psycho, burying his face. “Kuna!”

“Shut up, brat. Gonna ruin you for anyone.” He’s talking to your pussy it seems now, strong fingers pressing your thighs apart as he swipes a stripe up between your lips, licking you all the way from your hole to your clit, the sensation has your hips jerking, which he pins in place. “Ah- ah brat, stay still.”

“S’too much… I… oh my god.” Sukuna is devouring your pussy, there’s no other term for it, the way he laps at your pussy with his stupidly long tongue, his eyes bright red when they look at you, when he flicks it to your clit. You’re soaking him, hands pulling at his hair, earning his groan against you. “Wh-what… you’re… I…”

“Shut up, brat, I want to hear you cum, not run your mouth.” You should be offended, but you can’t be, not when he’s fucking your velvety walls with his tongue now, pinching your clit with two of his fingers, the stimulation far too much, you feel it, the pressure building in your core, spreading.

“Kuna!” You’re screaming that nickname, he doesn’t care in fact he loves hearing it, loves your pussy drooling around his tongue, he feels your walls tighten around his wet muscle then, looking up at your face, mouth open wide in an O, eyes rolled back, your hands yanking his hair out, and he knows you’re cumming for him.

He’s grinding his cock on the mattress, aching to be inside you, but he also wants to make you beg for it, wants to make you pathetic for him, only him. You’re cumming so blinding, stars bursting everywhere behind your eyelids, your body convulsing as you’re gushing all over his handsome face. You feel his grin against you when he pulls back his tongue, slipping two fingers inside.

“Hear how slutty she is, huh? So slutty thought you were a good girl.” He huffs, you’re reeling from cumming so hard when he quickly finds your g spot, as if he knew your body forever. “Can’t talk? Pathetic.”

“F-fuck… you I… it’s too much!” You whine, he’s scissoring those two fingers in and out of your now soppy little hole, you do hear it, the wetness so fucking loud, he’s licking your clit now, sucking it into his mouth, you’re pushing over the edge again. “Both!? I c-can’t!”

“Mmm, you can, cum again, pretty slut. Lemme drink it.” You’re trying to close your thighs, but he forces them open, smacking at one, shaking his head. “Again, y’can do it.”

“S’too much…” You’re whining over and over, it is so much pleasure you have trouble comprehending a thought, when he crooks his fingers in your gooey walls, and sucks your clit again, you’re shattering.

“Mmm, there you go, you can do it can’t ya?” He’s cooing to you, smirk on his features, that are coated in your slick.

“Please!” You’re yanking him up, he chuckles a bit, letting you, hovering over you with his strong arms, as he wipes your chin with one hand.

“You’re fucking drooling, god, fucked out already? Can you handle me?” He raises a brow, you want to retort, but you are fucked out, you came more than you ever have, now you’re opening your mouth and closing it. “Can’t talk, stupid brat?”

“F-fuck off… ass…” You manage, earning him more hard for you, kissing you deeply, you taste yourself then, but even more when he shoves his fingers in your pussy, scooping out more arousal, shoving them in your mouth.

“Suck them like a good girl, there ya fuckin go, pretty little slut.” You’re in tears from overstimulation as you suck him eagerly. “So ya can follow directions, ha… didn’t know that mouth could shut.”

“Shut it.” You whisper, pulling back with a pop, he falters at your seductive words, shaking his head.

“You sucked dick?”

“N-no.” You admit, he sighs then.

“Look, maybe not the first time.”

“Sukuna, are you being caring?” You tease, his brows lower, lips pressing in a firm line.

“No! Just… you need a lot of workup and… will you stop smiling like that!? Stop looking at me that way.”

“Like what?” You tease, hands unbuttoning him shakily, he pulls back then, taking a breath as he looks down at your pretty body, and you reveal more of his chiseled frame.

“Like… that. Like you’re…”

“In love with you?” His jaw tenses again.

“Shut it, now.”

“I am, stupid ass. Don’t know why.” You sit up when he stands, eagerly unbuttoning his pants, his heart races like he’s the virgin, brain short circuiting when you slip them down, his boxers following.

“I… you… shouldn’t…” He doesn’t remember what he was saying, you’re too sexy, too pretty, your words he’s never thought he’d hear. “You don’t love me. Don’t say it.”

“I do, and I will say it.”

“Then why did you ask for… casual!?”

You’re blushing when his cock is revealed, and it’s massive, thick and heavy, his reddened tip drooling precum. It’s so big you can’t understand how it would fit, your hand barely circles the girth, looking so tiny against him, he’s ridiculously big. You nervously look up, seeing his eyes dilated, his lashes lowered, Sukuna’s hands come to enwrap in your loose hair, gripping it.

“Answer me, brat. Now.”

“Because if that’s how you want to, I’ll do it. I want you, I have wanted you.” He exhales, jerking when you lick his tip.

“I don’t want to be casual with you, okay!?” You smile, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t you dare smile like that. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna be all mushy and dumb.”

“I don’t want to be casual either.” He cups your face with his other hand, groaning when your hot mouth starts sucking him in, there’s too much of him, you barely get the tip and an inch or two, swirling your tongue, tasting the salty precum, his musky scent filling your nostrils.

“F-fuck…” Sukuna’s stuttering, you swear you hear him whine, but you wonder if it’s a trick of your ears, his hand on your face shaky when he starts thrusting his cock in your mouth, eyes locked on yours. “Stupidly pretty brat.”

He might as well say ‘my love’ or ‘darling’ because your body reacts, already having had so much pleasure you’re wet again, when he yanks you more on his cock, shoving it deeper. You’re breathing through your nose as he fucks your throat, as he’s gasping and moaning out your name, you finally think you have a rhythm when he pulls you off.

“Was it okay?” You ask nervously, he shoves you on your back, between your thighs in an instant then, you gasp for breath.

“Okay? Sucked it like some pro. You lyin’ t’me?” You giggle, shaking your head and catching his gaze.

“Watch porn though.”

“Porn ain’t shit to what I’m gonna do.” You’re crying out as his tip leaks precum along your clit, biting your lip when he’s pressing into your tight ring of muscles, your nails dig into his back, feeling the taut skin. “If we do this, you’re never fucking anyone, never. Fuckin got me brat?”

You blink a bit, as his tip presses in, stretching your skin. “You love me too, don’t you Kuna?” You tease, he scoffs, but then nods just a bit, and kisses you, pressing past your barrier, you gasp at it, at the pain, being stretched by him. “Ow! Shit!”

“Shit… y-you’re too tight… loosen the fuck up, brat.” You glare up at him, throbbing from the pain now, he’s barely holding on.

“I can’t. Y-you’re an idiot!”

“Running your mouth?”

“You’re too big!”

“Fuck…” He eases back, leaning up on an elbow, hand slipping down and rolling on your clit. “Relax, annoying ass. Even your pussy is stubborn.”

“You’re… so… ah!” His circles are rough, calloused thumb pressing on your little engorged clit, when he sinks in again.

“Relax, now.” His husky voice gives you that order, you do so then, exhaling and looking into his eyes, that are so dark they look black, you nod weakly. “You… are you alright?”

“You care, aw.” You can’t help it, you’re grinning all fucked up.

He glares again, this time thrusting deep, you scream out at it, he moans, biting your neck again, big hand gripping your thigh and lifting it higher. “Fucking feel her, gripping me my god. She’s mine, huh?”

“Y-yours, Kuna.” Your little whimper destroys him, your cunt pulsing around him, stretching and getting wetter to accommodate, and he begins actually fucking you then, you’re so wet, hot and tight he can’t stand how good it feels, he’s already dreaming of breeding this little cunt as you convulse under him.

“F-fucking love it, slutty little pussy.” His words along with his tip dragging against that spot in your walls send you reeling, you hear it now the skin smacking, his balls slapping your ass, wetness squelching when he pulls back, gripping your hips with a wicked grin. “Look, fucking your guts up, huh?”

He forces your chin to look down at the ridiculous bulge in your tummy, you gasp at it, clinging to his sheets now, so full when he sinks more of his cock in you, so much you don’t think he’ll fit fully, he’s already slamming your cervix. His hands slip up your hips, yanking you down further, you scream out at how good it feels.

“Ruin you, no one… n-no one’s gonna do this, yeah?” He leans over just a bit, fucking you harder, thrusts so rough your tits jiggle, your body moves. “Use you as my little fuck toy, pretty toy, so fucked out and stupid.”

“Ngh!” You are stupid, your eyes are rolling back, you’re drooling, incapable of doing anything but pulsing on his cock now, of desperately clinging to him.

“S-say it, brat.” He’s shoved his cock so deep, your cunt is dripping down his veiny length, you’re whimpering desperately, nodding. “That’s it, cum f’me, lemme feel her clamp down. F-fuck, there she is…”

Now Sukuna is full of nonsense, you’re both mumbling as he does ruin you for anyone, as you ruin him for anyone, he’s kissing you sloppy, his tattooed hand wraps your throat. He squeezes just so, you’re fading as he rails your cunt, muttering filthy, nasty words, you were a virgin, but he sure the fuck wasn’t taking it easy.

Well, you didn’t think he was, Sukuna actually is taking it easy.

He’ll wait before he goes where he wants to, but you so eagerly open your mouth for his spit, desperately cumming all over his cock then. “Made f’me, pussy she’s m-mine, hmm?”

You’re getting choked, swallowing spit, and this asshole asks you a question? You manage a nod, as he slows finally, releasing your throat, hand slipping up your titty to pinch your nipple, hips rolling just so, jerking his cock against your bruised cervix. You’re a stupid mess under him, sputtering when he finally slows his rhythm, when he thickens impossibly in you.

“I’m never pulling out of you, on something?” He huffs, you blink in confusion as he grins. “Asked ya a question brat.”

“On… pill… mmm…” He moans now, exhaling.

“Good, hah-” He thrusts deep again, you’re fluttering around his length. “Wouldn’t pull out anyway. I’d knock you the fuck up, breed your slutty cunt.” You’re done for, when he starts spurting cum, crying out in your ear, taking over everything with his huge body on top of you, in you, around you. He’s cumming so much it’s ridiculous, coating your walls, filling your belly full. “Oh f-fuck… fuckin love you…”

You blink as you come to, as your cum and his are pushed out with each thrust, your thighs shaking, head buzzing from pleasure. He looks at you then, eyes desperate, biting his lower lip while you put it together. “You love me, Kuna?”

“Shut up.” You smile when he kisses you again, and well… you don’t just fuck once for your first time.

You’re fucking in the shower to ‘clean up’ and then he’s got you up on the counter, devouring your pussy again, seeing how many times you can cum, soon he’s got his game going, showing you the controls as you’re cockwarming him. You’re so sore no amount of ibuprofen will fix it, but you want more, you’re grinding on him as you wear his headset, getting shot hopelessly by the players.

That’s where Yuuji finds you all, your tits out, Sukuna half naked, big hands on your hips with his cock inside you, you gasp then, covering your tits with your hands, but Sukuna just laughs, kissing on your shoulders. Yuuji covers his face, turning away quickly in embarrassment.

“K-kuna… s-stop…” You whisper, but Yuuji waves at you all, covering his eyes with a smile.

“You’re getting along!”

“Um… yeah.” You manage, and Sukuna’s laughing so hard it’s annoying, he doesn’t pay attention to your glare.

“Cool… um… bye.” He hides in his room, you try to get up, but Sukuna has you pinned down, tilting your head and kissing you.

“You’re insane, Sukuna.”

“You love that shit.”

“Shush. Show me the… g-game…”

The teammates are very curious why Sukuna started sucking at Call of Duty that day, but he has his new very annoying girlfriend to blame, she’s just squeezing his cock too good.

A/N I really have been feeling some Sukuna latelyyy, I hope ya'll enjoyed the smut aha!! <3

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All my sukuna oneshots hereee