#-screams into a bottle and then throws it at the wall-

[goldfades]

I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND───JOE BURROW

request: Can you write a joe burrow one shot about so high school 🥰🥰 Or if you’ve already done that, then the song dress

ev's notes: this was supposed to be a blurb. keyword: supposed to. i got a bit carried away, but how can you not when it comes to taylor? also, we all love LSU joe

The first time you saw Joe Burrow, he was standing on the edge of a practice field, helmet in hand, a picture of quiet confidence. His buzzcut was sharp enough to catch the late Louisiana sun, and you remember thinking he looked like the kind of guy who had his entire life planned out. It was almost intimidating how effortless he made everything seem—throwing perfect spirals, cracking jokes in the locker room, balancing the weight of a team on his shoulders. But then, somehow, you found yourself next to him during a random group project in Sports Management 201, and everything changed.

You didn’t become best friends overnight. Joe wasn’t exactly the “overshare everything in one go” type, and you, well, you had walls of your own. But there was an ease between you, the kind that turned study sessions into late-night deep dives about life and childhood and everything in between. By the time sophomore year rolled around, you were inseparable. You’d sit on the floor of his apartment during game weekends, surrounded by a haze of pizza boxes and team gear, and think, This is it. This is my person.

But somewhere along the way, the easy edges of your friendship began to blur. Maybe it was the way Joe looked at you during one of those low-stakes nights, his gaze lingering just a little too long. Or maybe it was the time you patched him up after a particularly brutal hit on the field—his voice low and rough as he muttered, “What would I do without you?” Either way, the shift was small but seismic, like an earthquake rumbling beneath your feet before you even realized it was happening.

You couldn’t pinpoint when you started noticing the details. The golden flecks in his otherwise blue eyes, the way his laugh hitched just slightly when he found something truly funny, or the way his voice softened when he said your name. You tried to ignore it at first, chalking it up to some misplaced admiration for your best friend, but the feelings were stubborn, refusing to be tucked away neatly. They buzzed under your skin, electric and impossible to ignore, leaving you breathless whenever he was near.

And then there was the dress. A stupid, impulsive decision born out of frustration and hope, hanging in your closet like a secret you weren’t ready to admit. You’d told yourself you bought it because you deserved something new, something fun. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You weren’t supposed to want him like this. You were supposed to be his confidante, his teammate, his best friend. But every lingering glance, every accidental brush of hands, every inside joke that felt too personal—it all built up, layering itself into something you couldn’t unravel even if you tried. And now, sitting in the dim glow of your shared favorite bar, watching him laugh at something trivial, you wonder if he feels it too.

If he notices the way you can’t quite meet his eyes for too long. If he knows that every smile he sends your way makes your chest tighten. If he realizes that every secret moment you’ve shared has carved itself into your memory like a golden tattoo you’ll never erase.

You don’t want him like a best friend. Not anymore.

The bass from the speakers thrums through the walls of the house, rattling the beer bottles on every flat surface. The air smells like spilled alcohol, cheap cologne, and too many bodies crammed into one space. It's chaos, but the best kind, the kind you’ve come to associate with game days at LSU—sweaty, celebratory, and electric. Tonight, the Tigers pulled off a win that had everyone on their feet, screaming until their voices cracked, and the party is nothing short of a victory lap.

You’re deep in a circle of friends, the buzz of alcohol warming your veins and making you laugh harder than you have in weeks. The strain of classes, late nights, and endless football schedules has melted away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. Someone hands you a drink—something neon and probably terrible—but you take it anyway, raising it in a toast to nothing and everything. It feels good to let loose, to drown out the noise in your head with the noise of the crowd.

And then you see him.

Joe is across the room, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like he owns the place. His LSU cap is turned backward, and his smile is as easy and devastating as ever. You can tell he’s in his element, surrounded by teammates and admirers, his laugh cutting through the din of the party. You feel it in your chest like a physical thing, a pull you’ve never been able to explain but have stopped trying to fight.

But it’s not just Joe that catches your attention. It’s the girl next to him.

She’s gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that turns heads and stops conversations. She’s leaning in close, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm, saying something that makes him laugh. Not just any laugh—the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes, the kind you thought was reserved for the two of you. Your stomach twists, sharp and sudden, like you’ve just swallowed something bitter.

You try to look away, to focus on anything else—the half-empty drinks in front of you, the sticky floor beneath your shoes, the laughter of your friends—but your gaze keeps drifting back, helplessly tethered to the sight of them. She’s laughing now, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and Joe’s watching her like she’s the only person in the room.

The nausea hits you like a wave. It’s not subtle, not something you can breathe through and ignore. It rises quickly, making your throat tighten and your head spin. You set your drink down on the nearest surface, ignoring the shouts of your friends as you mumble something about needing a break.

The hallway to the bathroom feels like a mile long, each step heavy and unsteady. The crowd thins as you move away from the main party, the noise dulling to a low hum. You push open the bathroom door and lock it behind you, gripping the sink to steady yourself. The fluorescent light overhead is harsh, making everything feel too bright, too real.

You glance up at the mirror, and there it is: the blue dress.

You bought it on a whim, a little too expensive for your budget but too perfect to leave behind. Joe had told you once, in passing, that blue was your color. It had been a throwaway comment, something he probably didn’t even remember, but it had stuck with you. When you saw the dress, you thought of him, of the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, of the way he said your name like it was something special. You’d wanted to impress him, to feel like you could belong in the world he so effortlessly ruled.

Now, staring at your reflection, the dress feels like a cruel joke. The silky fabric clings to you in all the right places, the color vibrant against your skin, but it doesn’t matter. Not when Joe is out there, smiling at someone else like she’s the only thing that matters.

Your hands grip the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white. The nausea is still there, but now it’s tangled with something else—anger, humiliation, heartbreak. It’s overwhelming, and for a moment, you think you might actually cry. But you don’t. You can’t. Not here, not now.

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stand up straighter. The dress still looks good, you think, even if it feels tainted now. You smooth the fabric down with trembling hands, telling yourself that it doesn’t matter, that Joe doesn’t matter. But deep down, you know it’s a lie.

He’s always mattered.

You take another deep breath, the kind that feels like it’s dragging through every nerve in your body, and push yourself away from the sink. The girl in the mirror stares back at you, her lips pressed into a determined line, her eyes just a little glassy. Maybe from the drink. Maybe not. Either way, you’re done hiding in this bathroom like a cliché in some bad movie.

Joe can talk to whoever he wants. He’s not yours. He never has been. But you? You’re not going to let one moment ruin your night. Not when the music is still pumping, your friends are still laughing, and—let’s be honest—you’re in a frat house. There are plenty of boys here who would love to talk to a girl like you, especially in this dress.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, small but defiant, as you fix your hair and smooth your dress one last time. If Joe wants to waste his night with someone else, fine. You have no shortage of options.

The noise of the party hits you the moment you step back into the hallway, a tidal wave of music and laughter and the unmistakable sound of someone shouting “chug, chug, chug!” You weave your way through the crowd, ignoring the tightness in your chest when you pass the kitchen and see him still standing there, leaning closer to that girl. Instead, you head straight for the living room, where the crowd is thick, the lights are dim, and the music feels like it’s coming from inside your chest.

You position yourself near the edge of the dance floor, close enough to seem approachable but not so close that you’re desperate. It doesn’t take long. It never does at a frat party, especially when you’re wearing a dress like this one.

The first guy approaches within minutes. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and definitely a little drunk. His grin is lopsided as he leans in, yelling over the music. “Hey! You’re way too cute to be standing here by yourself. What’s your name?”

You force a smile, polite but not overly enthusiastic. “Thanks. I’m just waiting for my friends.”

He doesn’t take the hint. “Well, they’re not here right now, are they?” He takes a step closer, the smell of beer and sweat rolling off him in waves. “Lucky me.”

You laugh awkwardly, trying to keep some space between you. He’s not bad-looking, you’ll give him that, but there’s something about the way his eyes linger on you that makes your skin crawl. It’s like he’s not looking at you, but at the dress, the shape of your body, the idea of what you might let him get away with. It’s unsettling, and the longer he talks, the more you want to disappear.

“So,” he says, leaning in even closer, “you here with anyone? Or are you single tonight?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Normally, you’d have brushed this guy off by now, forced a polite smile and ducked away before things got too awkward. But tonight isn’t normal. Tonight, you’re wearing this stupid blue dress for a boy who doesn’t even notice you’re alive, who’s too busy laughing with someone else to care that you’re here, trying not to drown in your feelings. And maybe it’s the alcohol humming in your veins, or maybe it’s the weight of everything pressing down on your chest, but you don’t brush him off.

Instead, you tilt your head and smile, the kind of smile you’ve never given to anyone but Joe. “Single.”

His grin widens, and he takes another step closer, his hand finding your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It feels wrong and right all at once—wrong because he’s not Joe, but right because at least someone is looking at you like you matter. His voice is low, almost a murmur now. “Lucky me.”

You laugh, a sound that feels foreign to your own ears, and let him guide you further into the crowd, where the music is loud enough to drown out your thoughts. His hands are confident but not pushy, and when he leans down, his lips brushing against yours, you don’t stop him.

You kiss him back. At first, it’s awkward, more about the motion than any real feeling, but as the seconds pass, you give in, letting the alcohol and the haze of the moment carry you. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer, and you let him. You let him because it’s easier than admitting that the only person you really want to be kissing doesn’t want you back.

You’re not sure how long it lasts—minutes, maybe hours—but the world blurs into a mess of noise and heat, and you lose yourself in it. You don’t notice the weight of another gaze until it’s too late.

“[Your Name].”

Your name isn’t loud, but it cuts through everything like a knife. The music, the chatter, the blood pounding in your ears—all of it fades the second you hear his voice. Joe’s voice.

You pull back from the guy, your head spinning as you turn to find Joe standing a few feet away. His cap is gone now, his hair slightly mussed, and his expression is unreadable. But his eyes—those blue eyes you’ve memorized in a thousand different shades—are filled with something you can only describe as hurt. It hits you like a punch to the gut.

“Joe,” you manage, your voice shaky, but he doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at you, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

You barely hear him. Your focus is locked on Joe, on the way his shoulders tense and his gaze flickers between you and the guy. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but razor-sharp, like he’s trying to keep something dangerous from slipping out. “Didn’t realize you were… busy.”

The guy behind you shifts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Uh, I didn’t—”

“She’s drunk,” Joe cuts him off, his tone flat but laced with something that feels too heavy, too sharp to be just irritation. His eyes don’t leave yours, even as he continues, his jaw tight. “You know that, right?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your stomach twists in both anger and embarrassment. You straighten up, the haze of alcohol doing little to dull the heat that creeps up your neck. “Joe, I’m fine. Don’t—”

“No, you’re not,” he snaps, his attention finally shifting to the guy, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “Get lost.”

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any harm,” the guy says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “She seemed into it.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not,” Joe bites back, taking a step forward. There’s a warning in his voice, low and simmering, and the guy takes the hint, backing away with a muttered excuse before disappearing into the crowd.

You whip around to face Joe, your chest heaving. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” His laugh is bitter, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “What are you even doing, [Your Name]? You’re drunk. And you’re letting some random guy—”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you interrupt, your voice rising to match his. The heat in your face isn’t just from the alcohol anymore; it’s from the way he’s looking at you, like you’re some reckless child who needs saving. “I’m not a kid, Joe. I don’t need you to swoop in and play hero.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out what to do next. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter but no less intense. “You don’t see it, do you? The way guys like that look at you. They don’t care about you, [Your Name]. They just see an easy target.”

You flinch at his words, the sting of them sharper than you expect. “You don’t get to decide what I do or who I talk to, Joe. You don’t own me.”

“Damn it, I’m trying to protect you!” His voice cracks slightly, the frustration and something else—something softer, almost desperate—breaking through. “Do you have any idea how bad this could’ve gone? What if I hadn’t been here?”

“I didn’t ask you to save me!” Your voice is shaking now, the emotion bubbling up faster than you can contain it. “You think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is acting like you know better than I do.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of the argument hanging heavy between you. Around you, the party continues, oblivious to the storm brewing in this corner of the room.

Joe runs a hand through his hair, his expression shifting into something you can’t quite read. Hurt? Anger? Both? “You don’t get it,” he says finally, his voice low. “You never get it.”

“Then explain it to me,” you shoot back, your own voice raw now. “Because all I see is you barging in and making me feel like some helpless idiot.”

His jaw clenches, his hands flexing like he’s holding back something volcanic. When he finally moves, it’s not to storm off—it’s to step closer, his hand wrapping around your arm with just enough pressure to make you pause, though not enough to hurt. His grip is warm and steady, grounding in a way that feels infuriating right now.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice low but firm. There’s no anger in it, no edge, just a quiet certainty that only makes you bristle more. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

You yank your arm back, but his hold doesn’t falter. “I’m fine, Joe,” you snap, your voice sharp and defensive. The alcohol in your veins has burned away just enough to leave you teetering on the edge of indignation. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes meeting yours with a calm intensity that only fuels your frustration. “Let me go,” you demand, your voice rising. “Seriously, Joe. You can’t just decide—”

“You’re drunk,” he cuts in quietly, his tone unshakable, almost maddeningly patient. “And this isn’t you.”

Your stomach twists, the words hitting a nerve you didn’t realize was exposed. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on me?” you fire back, your voice trembling slightly as you try to pull away again. “You don’t get to tell me who I am or what I can do. I’m not some little kid you need to take care of!”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t yell, doesn’t even argue. He just lets you rail against him, his expression remaining infuriatingly steady as he starts guiding you through the crowd, his hand never leaving your arm. You’re too angry to notice the way people glance your way, their conversations pausing as they watch Joe Burrow, the golden boy of LSU, calmly escort you out of the frat house like it’s a routine play he’s run a hundred times before.

“Joe, let me go!” you yell again, louder this time, but your voice bounces off the walls of the crowded room and fades into the noise of the party. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look back.

By the time you’re outside, the cool night air hits you like a slap, the contrast between the crisp breeze and the stuffy warmth of the party jarring enough to momentarily stall your protests. Joe finally lets go of your arm but stands in front of you, his broad frame blocking the house and everyone in it from view.

You glare at him, crossing your arms as you try to steady your breathing. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” he echoes, his voice still calm, though there’s a hint of something sharper underneath. “My problem is watching you let some random guy take advantage of you because you’ve had too much to drink. My problem is knowing you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“And you think dragging me out of there like I’m some damsel in distress is going to fix that?” you snap, your chest heaving with the force of your words. “You don’t get to control me, Joe!”

“I’m not trying to control you,” he says, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you demand, throwing your hands up. “From having fun? From making my own choices?”

“From getting hurt,” he says, and the words are so soft, so raw, that they stop you in your tracks. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the anger in your chest giving way to something heavier, something harder to ignore.

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, you see the cracks in his calm façade. There’s something unsteady in the way he’s looking at you, like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge, trying not to fall. “I care about you, okay? More than I probably should. So yeah, maybe I overstepped, but I’m not going to stand there and watch you make decisions that aren’t you, not when I know you’re going to hate yourself for it tomorrow.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy and unrelenting. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because for all your anger, all your frustration, there’s a part of you that knows he’s right. And it terrifies you.

Joe takes a step back, running a hand through his hair as he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady himself. “If you want to go back in there, I won’t stop you. But I had to try.”

He turns to leave, his shoulders tense, and for the first time tonight, you feel the weight of everything crashing down all at once.

You watch him for a second, the silence stretching between you, thick and tangled with everything unsaid. The words you want to say sit at the back of your throat, but they won’t come. Instead, you take a deep breath, the cold air doing little to cool the fire in your chest, and you follow him.

Joe’s footsteps are steady and purposeful, like he’s not even thinking about the fact that you’re trailing behind him, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore. Your anger dissipates in the quiet of the night, swallowed up by the calm that surrounds you both. The sounds of the party fade away as you walk down the street toward your apartment, the rhythmic tap of your heels on the sidewalk oddly soothing.

You keep your gaze fixed ahead, not meeting his eyes. For once, the noise in your head is quieter than the pounding of your heart, but still, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that something's missing.

You finally glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His face is shadowed in the streetlights, but you can still make out the tight line of his jaw, the furrow in his brow. He doesn’t look at you, his focus trained straight ahead, and for some reason, it makes your chest ache.

Neither of you speaks, the tension between you thick but not unbearable. It’s the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to shift, for someone to break. But you don’t. Not yet.

By the time you reach your apartment door, the quiet feels heavier than the air itself. You fumble with your keys for a moment, your fingers trembling just enough to make it harder than usual to find the right one.

"Here," Joe says, his voice low, and you glance up just in time to see him stepping forward, his hand brushing against yours as he takes the keys from you. He unlocks the door in a smooth motion, and before you can even think to thank him, he speaks again.

“I—”

“You looked good tonight,” he says, cutting you off softly. His voice is steady, but there’s something in it that makes your stomach flip, an edge of vulnerability you weren’t expecting. His eyes meet yours then, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The dress. I liked it.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and it feels like the ground beneath you shifts, like the world tilts on its axis and sets you spinning. You stare at him, your heart beating too fast, and then—without warning—you’re smiling.

It’s not forced or awkward. It’s real, stretching across your face in a way that makes the weight in your chest lift just a little. And then he’s smiling too, that familiar grin that’s been burned into your memory for years, and suddenly, everything feels lighter.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice quieter now, softer. You glance down at the fabric of your dress, smoothing it out as if to steady yourself. “I wasn’t sure if it was my color.”

“It is,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in his voice, just certainty. “Blue suits you.”

You blink, staring at him, at the way he’s looking at you now—open, earnest, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Something in his eyes shifts, like he’s trying to gauge whether you’ll believe him, whether you’ll understand the weight behind those words. And you do.

A smile spreads across your face before you can even stop it. It’s like all the pieces of this night fall into place, clicking together, and for the first time in hours, you feel lighter. The alcohol fades to a dull buzz in the back of your mind, replaced by a warmth that starts in your chest and spreads outward, filling you up from the inside.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you even think about them. You’re not even sure who you’re trying to convince. Maybe him. Maybe yourself.

He smiles back, that familiar, crooked grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. And just like that, you know.

The tension between you two, the hurt, the anger—it’s all still there, but it’s fading, slipping away with each breath you take, with each passing moment. The connection you’ve both been avoiding is right there, in the space between you, unspoken but understood.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you step forward. The words leave your mouth before your brain can stop them.

“Do you want to come in?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not. But then the smile returns, a little softer, a little more vulnerable this time, and he steps closer, his hand brushing against yours again.

“I’d like that.”

You step aside, holding the door open for him, and as he crosses the threshold into your apartment, the world outside fades away. The weight of the night, the tension, the unspoken feelings—it all starts to fall away as you close the door behind him, the sound of it locking making everything feel a little more real.

And for the first time tonight, you feel like you might actually be able to breathe again.

Inside, the apartment feels cozy, a stark contrast to the cold night air outside. You toss your keys onto the counter, the clink of metal breaking the comfortable silence as Joe surveys the familiar space. He’s been here more times than you can count, so much that it’s almost like he lives here—except he doesn’t. He’s always just passing through, leaving behind traces of himself that linger far longer than he does.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says casually, already heading toward the bathroom like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is.

“Sure,” you reply, watching as he grabs a towel from the hall closet without missing a beat. “You know where everything is.”

He shoots you a grin over his shoulder. “Hard not to when half of it used to be mine.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out before you can stop it. The tension from earlier feels miles away, replaced by an easy warmth that only Joe seems to bring. You head to the couch, plopping down and grabbing the remote while he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of water running fills the quiet, and you let yourself sink into the cushions, your body finally relaxing.

When Joe reappears twenty minutes later, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, he’s wearing a pair of sweats and an old LSU hoodie you distinctly remember stealing from him months ago. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, but you push the feeling down, focusing on the TV as he flops onto the couch beside you.

He stretches out, his long legs taking up most of the space, and gestures at his hoodie with a mock-serious expression. “You know, you could at least ask before raiding my closet.”

You glance at him, feigning innocence. “What can I say? Your clothes are comfortable. And they look better on me.”

He snorts, leaning back with a grin that’s all teasing charm. “Debatable.”

“Not even a little bit,” you counter, smirking. The playful banter feels so normal, so easy, that you almost forget the storm that brewed between you earlier.

Almost.

After a while, the two of you migrate to your bed, the comforter a welcoming cocoon as you prop up pillows and settle in with The Office playing softly in the background. Joe’s on one side, you’re on the other, the space between you wide enough to be friendly but not awkward. It feels... safe. Like every other time you’ve done this.

But tonight, something lingers in the air, something unspoken that buzzes just beneath the surface. You try to ignore it, to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of Jim and Pam’s back-and-forth, but you can feel Joe shifting beside you, his presence impossible to ignore.

It’s almost halfway through an episode when he speaks, his voice cutting through the soft glow of the TV. “You know…” he starts, his tone so casual it catches you off guard. “It’s funny how everyone thinks we’re just friends.”

You turn to look at him, your brows knitting together. “Uh… because we are just friends?”

He shrugs, his eyes still fixed on the screen, his expression maddeningly nonchalant. “Sure, but like… doesn’t it ever feel like more than that sometimes? Like, not in a weird way, but…” He trails off, his lips curving into a small, almost amused smile. “I don’t know. Just thinking out loud.”

Your heart stutters, your breath catching as his words sink in. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way his arm brushes against yours, the warmth radiating from his body, the way his voice dips just enough to make you second-guess everything. But Joe doesn’t seem fazed. If anything, he looks like he’s just commented on the weather, like this vague, half-confession isn’t turning your entire world upside down.

“Joe…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say or how to even process what he just implied.

He finally looks at you, his gaze steady but soft, like he’s daring you to call him out. “What? I’m just saying. It’s not that crazy of an idea, is it?”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You’re torn between laughing at how absurdly casual he’s being and screaming at him for dropping this bombshell like it’s nothing. Instead, you settle for staring at him, your mind racing as the silence stretches on.

And then, as if to hammer the final nail in your coffin, he adds, “I mean, you do look really good in that dress. I wasn’t lying about that.”

It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, and you’re not entirely sure if the warmth spreading through your chest is panic or something else entirely.

Joe doesn’t push. He just leans back against the pillows, his gaze flicking back to the TV like he didn’t just casually crack open the door to feelings you’ve spent way too long pretending don’t exist. But the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gives him away. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you want to close that door or walk straight through it.

Your brain short-circuits. There’s no other way to describe it. You sit there, staring at him, your mouth opening and closing like you’re a fish out of water, but no words come out. None. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your thoughts racing too fast for you to grab hold of even one.

Joe waits, his expression unreadable. His eyes flick to yours, searching, like he’s waiting for some kind of confirmation—or maybe a rejection. The seconds stretch into what feels like hours, and the weight of the moment settles heavily between you.

You want to say something, anything, but your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth, and all you can do is sit there like an idiot while your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.

And then, Joe decides he’s done waiting.

Without warning, he leans in, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face as his lips press softly against yours. It’s gentle, tentative, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away. But you don’t. You can’t. The moment his mouth touches yours, it’s like the world stops spinning.

When he pulls back, his gaze locks on yours, his thumb brushing against your cheek. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it, and his voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

It takes a second for his words to register, but when they do, they snap you out of your daze. “I’m impossible?” you manage to croak, your voice barely above a whisper. “You just—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I did.”

You blink at him, still trying to process what just happened. But then the realization hits you like a freight train, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “I feel the same way.”

Joe’s smirk widens into a full-blown grin, and he leans back, his hand dropping to rest casually on your knee. “Took you long enough to say it,” he teases, his tone light but undeniably smug. “Thought I was gonna have to spell it out for you.”

Your cheeks burn, and you swat at his arm, unable to stop the small laugh that escapes you. “Oh, shut up.”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hoodie smells like fresh laundry and something distinctly Joe, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of him, your head resting against his chest.

For a while, neither of you say anything. The TV continues playing in the background, the familiar sounds of The Office filling the room, but neither of you are paying attention anymore. Joe’s fingers trace absent patterns on your arm, and every now and then, you catch him glancing down at you with a soft smile that makes your heart flutter all over again.

It’s quiet, easy, comfortable, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. And maybe, just maybe, it is.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[33max]

max wins his fourth championship

red bull turkey dinosaurs au, 1560 words

The moment Gianpiero sees Max’s crinkly-eyed smile and fluffy hair plastered across every TV screen in the paddock, he knows Max is going to drop. Maybe not yet, but soon. It’s obvious to GP now, especially because he’s had 4 years to start recognising the signs.

Max has dropped after every championship win. GP doesn’t know if it’s the relief of finally claiming the title, or Max allowing himself to celebrate exactly how he wants to, but either way, the team love celebrating with the little guy. There is nothing better than his unbridled childlike wonder and squawking giggles filling the garage after a win.

“You’re going with Max,” Christian tells him, he’s sat a couple of seats down on the pit wall – his headphones still on after congratulating Max.

“Am I?” GP asks, surprised. Max won the title, but he only placed P5 - he’s not going on the podium. Why would GP be going with Max?

“There’s a car ride to the Bellagio,” Christian says, then softens his eyes and insists. “You go with him in the car.”

He gets it now. Christian is worried Max will drop too soon, and if he does then GP needs to be there with him. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

The walk to Parc Ferme is chaos. There are bodies everywhere. The pit lane is full of people celebrating, mechanics trying to get to their cars, photographers, journalists, and paddock club members swarming. But he makes it through.

The moment he sees Max, he starts running. His driver has just won their fourth championship in a row and he can’t wait to throw his arms around Max. They knew the win was a possibility today, but GP didn’t think it would happen, especially not with a DIY rear wing. But Max always surprises him.

“You were amazing!” GP screams as he gets close enough for Max to hear him. He acts on impulse, maybe because Max looked so soft on the TV footage, or maybe because GP can feel how much Max needs a hug. Either way, before he knows it he’s bending down and lifting Max up like he does when Max is small, holding him so tightly as Max giggles loudly.

“You did exactly what you needed to, mate!” GP says, “You knew who our race was with and you made it happen.”

“Only P5,” Max says, shrugging, as GP puts his feet back on the floor. GP hates how hard Max is on himself sometimes, even with a championship win today Max considers P5 the fourth loser.

“It was the best we could have got from the car today, Max.” GP affirms, “More than the car deserved actually.”

Max smiles, cheeks turning a little pink with the praise.

“My world champ!” GP says, refocusing Max on the huge positive. He puts a hand on Max’s shoulder and shakes him a little, so damn proud.

They’re ushered into an obnoxious Rolls Royce with fairy lights on the ceiling and far too many buttons that Max immediately starts pressing.

“Look,” Max says, shyly indicating what each button does.

“Yeah, cool isn’t it?” GP replies, going along with it. He suspects Max has already started to drop, usually Max isn’t so enamoured by buttons.

“Jeep, I won,” Max whispers. Maybe the microphones can pick it up and GP will have a new nickname in the paddock tomorrow, or maybe they can’t and the name Jeep will still be reserved for only Max to call him – it doesn’t matter either way.

GP looks over to Max, leans back in his seat, and smiles fondly, “Yes, you did. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Max says.

GP hands him his water bottle, filled with a fruity electrolyte drink, the long bendy straw is tied up so GP unties it and hands Max the mouthpiece.

“Tank you,” Max says through his slow sips.

The next few hours are full on, but GP stays close to Max, making sure Max doesn’t drop too deep. He ends up lingering just outside of the TV pen, following Max to each interview, and standing next to him in the group photo.

“Jeep,” Max whines, after the team has thoroughly drenched him in red bull and champagne. He’s tugging on the sleeve of GP’s jacket rather insistently, trying to drag him back towards the hospitality building.

GP knows immediately that Max has dropped fully, that he’s probably around 3 or 4 years old now mentally.

“What is it, Maxy?” GP asks gently, “What do you need?”

“Sticky.” Max flaps his arms. “No no no.”

GP nods, he leans down and scoops Max up onto his shoulder. A fireman’s carry. One that doesn’t look immediately strange if there are any photos of this online.

“Come on then, time to get the world champion in the shower!” GP laughs, running towards the building.

“No Jeep!” Max squeals, “No shower! BAFF!”

So, a bath it is then.

Rupert, almost magically, has the blow-up bathtub ready for Max when they get back to his driver’s room. There are lots of bubbles and three rubber ducks floating on the top, a daddy, a mummy, and a baby duck. Max’s little duck family travel to every race with them.

“Well done, buddy,” Rupert says when they barge into the room. He takes Max from GP, holding him on his hip and giving him a quick bounce. “We are so proud of you.”

Max nuzzles into Rupert’s neck.

“Rupy, baff,” Max points. “Sticky.”

GP and Rupert work together to get Max out of his clothes, he’s got so many layers on to combat the cold Vegas night. They both chucklenwhen they pull off one sock and then there’s another one right underneath.

Eventually, once Max is free of all clothes and socks, GP lifts him into the tub.

He splishes splashes, happily babbling to his ducks.

“You going to call Dan?” Rupert asks quietly. The elephant in every room. Daniel isn’t here. Nobody can blame him, either.

GP nods. “Yeah, I was waiting for a quiet moment alone. I think it would have been too much for Max earlier, he would have dropped deep in front of everyone, and that’s not fair to him or Daniel.”

“Yeah,” Rupert agrees. “I’ll leave you guys to it while you call him, don’t worry about the bath, I’ll clean up in here when you’re done.”

Rupert gives Maxy a quick kiss on the head, and Maxy brings baby duck up to peck at Rupert’s cheek. “Bye Rupy!”

It makes GP’s heart swell, how lovely and innocent this version of Max is. How sweet and kind. How delicate.

“Maxy, shall we call Daddy now?”

Maxy looks at him with huge, adoring blue eyes, nodding desperately.

“Ok,” GP says, calling Daniel on FaceTime.

He hands Max the phone as it’s ringing.

“Try not to drop my phone in the bath, Maxy,” GP tells him, “Do safe hands, okay?”

Max is just about to reply when Daniel answers, and the screen fills with his big smile.

“Daddy!” Maxy beams, flapping a little. Daniel probably can’t see him very well.

“Oh, baby,” Daniel says, eyes wet. “You’re small already?”

Max nods, bringing his baby duck up towards the camera to peck and kiss at the phone screen. GP has to look away, it’s so sweet that it feels like it should be a private moment between the two of them.

“You were so good today, baby.” Daniel sobs, “You won and I am so proud of you.”

Max nods again, happy, but GP can tell it’s not the championship he’s happy about now. He’s happy because he’s talking to his Daddy.

“When Daddy come?” Max pouts. “Daddy, what about my night night bottle? And story time?”

“I am coming, baby,” Daniel says, panning the camera around to show Max the airport lounge he is sitting in. “I am coming to give you your bottle and a really big cuddle. Is that okay?”

“Yes!” Max splashes in excitement, and GP worries about his phone.

“Okay, Daddy will be there in two hours,” Daniel tells him, “I’m coming, Maxy.”

GP watches as Max babbles and giggles on the phone to Daniel until eventually Max’s eyes droop a little and Daniel has to get on the plane.

“Alright Maxy, tell Daddy you’ll see him very soon,” GP says, prompting Max to start saying his goodbyes. “See you soon, Dan!”

“Bye Daddy,” Maxy yawns, “See you soon.”

Once GP has hung up the call, and his phone is back to safety on the dry desk, he begins to lift Max out of the bath.

Getting him dry is always a challenge. Max twists and turns to avoid the towel as it tickles his tummy, and he absolutely does not let anyone near his ears so GP has to be extra careful when drying his hair. But eventually, Max is dry and in his pyjamas, a footed onesie with dinosaurs on it.

“Very handsome,” GP says, kissing his forehead as he lifts Max up and onto his hip. “Shall we go and see the mechanics before Daddy gets here? I know they’ll want to see you.”

“Okay,” Max says softly, laying his head on GP’s shoulder.

Max is asleep before they are even out the door of his driver’s room, but that’s okay, GP has him.

[one-winged-dreams]

THE DMW GAUGE IS FEEDING ME SO WELL THIS RUN 😭

[introspectivememories]

in my head and in my heart, i know for a fact that all 3 todoroki children have really unfavorable habits that they got from endeavor.

fuyumi is mean. just honest to god mean. she doesn't even mean it most of them time. just being everyone's emotional support all the time causes her to suppress her meaner emotions and when someone pushes, it all comes out. but there is nothing in the world sharper than fuyumi's tongue on a bad day.

natsuo, ever the middle child. always there and always forgotten. natsuo is quick to get physically aggressive. never on people, god no. but he'll punch through walls like it's nothing. he's had his fingers broken and set more times than he can remember. he hates this part of himself. he already looks so much like enji, does he need to have his father's destructive rage too?

shouto... where to even begin with shouto. the child kept under enji's thumb the longest. shouto is more like enji than he would like to admit. he eats his food the way enji eats his food, greens first then everything else. he does his morning routine a near copy of his father's. this is what happens when you spend every waking moment of the first 15 years of your life with your abuser. that being said, shouto, ignoring the ever present constant thrum of anger that hides just below his skin, shouts a lot when he's angry. it comes from the chest, booming and seething. it scares people. he knows this and he hates that he cannot stop himself.

they don't like thinking about but when it happens all of them can't help but think i'm just like dad.

[shvdowsdrowned]

I fuckign spilled water behind my bed and I had NO idea bc my water bottle fell behind all my pillows

[theramblingvoid]

No yeah it's fine, I don't mind living under capitalism it's treating me really well actually haha, idk I kind of like it lol haha yeah it's going great ^_^

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[darkbluekies]

A little game

Yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: Edmund going insane when he finds you hurt and unconscious and swears to kill everyone in town.

Warnigns: behading, insanity, blood, guns, abuse, arson, everything like that

Word count: 2.3k

His eyes wander over your lifeless body. Numerous signs of brutal harm can be seen on your body. He can't even imagine what you've been put through, and when he tries he feels sick.

“Kill them all.”

His secretary widens his eyes.“But … your majesty-”

Edmund turns to him with eyes burning with rage. “Do I speak another language?!” he screams. “Kill them all! Every single one of them!”

Maids look at each other in fear, the secretary gulps. Edmund can feel his body tremble. He wants to grab the glass bottle on the bedside table, break it and plunge it deep into someone's, anyone's, heart. Wants to see blood, wants to kill. 

His hammering heart thumps in his ears. A chanting “kill them all, make them pay” repeats in his head, sounding better and better each time.

It all had happened so quickly, and yet so slow. You were kidnapped on a town visit and hurt by someone, badly. A knight had found you after hours of search lifeless in the forest, body torn and beaten. Edmund had thought that you had died. The few moments of uncertainty had felt like hours. Millions of thoughts had passed through his head. What would he do if you were dead? Could he live without you? Why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't he breathe? Was he dead too? Why was he alone again?

But now he was only angry. Someone had hurt you … and the entire town hid the truth, protected the culprit. Edmund didn't care who had done what, everyone was guilty. They are no individuals, only a herd of characterless peasants. And he hates them all.

He wants to touch your face, but he doesn’t dare to. He’s scared that if he touches you, he’s going to kill you. His touch is deadly. You’re already so fragile, so vulnerable. 

“Take families, one by one”, Edmund starts, still shaking, “and bring them here.”

“What are you going to do, your majesty?” the secretary asks, sounding worried. 

“Give this castle a fucking paintjob.”

His hands are bloody — they’re never bloody. He never gets down and dirty, always watched. His heart is beating even quicker, but he can’t seem to get enough. He can’t get rid of the unimaginable anger he feels. It’s like a beast has taken control over his mind and soul and given him a new unclenched blood thirst. Every time he lets his fist make contact with a poor peasants body he sees your broken face in front of him. It makes him hit them more, with even more force. He enjoys it, he finds. 

“Your majesty, please!” the man he’s holding begs. “Please spare me, I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” Edmund questions harshly. “What can your filthy little peasant heart be sorry for, huh? Was it you who abused my wife?!”

“No! No, your majesty, I didn’t-”

His voice echoes across the court yard. “Then who did?! Who was it?! Who are you covering up for?!”

Before he has the time to answer, Edmund has thrown the man against the castle’s wall with such force that he cracks his skull open on the harsh, sharp stones. Blood splatter. Edmund’s heavy breaths are enough to cause his head to spin. He runs a bloody hand through his black hair. Bodies are lined up against the castle’s walls, stacked on top of each other.

Edmund turns to the knights standing a few meters away from him. 

“If no one fesses up I will kill the entire town!” he shouts. “Every single one!”

“Your majesty, if you kill everyone, who will you rule over?” a knight asks. 

In a swift motion, Edmund grabs a gun from the nearest knight and shoots him. 

“Does anyone else have idiotic questions?!” he screams, directing the gun around. “Huh?! Ask them now so we can get them over with!”

To show that he’s not kidding, he shoots a bullet straight up into the air. None of the knights answer. Edmund scoffs and throws the gun to the side. He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window and flinches. He didn’t need his mirror to let him know that he’s drenched in blood and sweat. The look inn his eyes is what is startled by. He looks … animalistic. There’s no humanity left in his ice blue eyes anymore. He can feel himself drift into insanity, but he can’t stop it — maybe he doesn't want to.

“Bring the next group”, he demands.

“They are fleeing into the woods, your majesty”, a knight says. 

“Then stop them?!”

“How, your majesty?”

He thinks for a moment. Head spinning, heart thumping in his ears, tast of blood in his mouth. 

“Burn it all down”, he decides. “Burn every possible way out. Burn them in, if necessary.”

The knights nod. Edmund turns back to the poor body on the bloody gravel and picks him up by the collar, carrying him to the others. 

“Isn’t it pretty? The color?”

His secretary tilts his head as he studies the flames in the distance. “I suppose so, but the smell is God awful.”

“Smells like victory to me.”

Edmund turns away from the window, eyes darting to all the things scattered all over the floor. His office is near destroyed. Things lay broken everywhere after his tantrums. He used to value his materialistic obsessions highly, but now they’re not worth a dime to him. Nothing is. Only you. He has to avenge you rightfully. 

“How is my darling doing?” he asks and gives the secretary a stern gaze. “You know to tell me the second she awakes, right? If you don’t, I will drag you out on the court yard and put you with the other bodies.”

“Of course, your majesty, I will come running right away”, the secretary answers. “You can rest assure. I won’t betray you. Besides, her skin is healing. You won’t have to see her grotesque marks.”

Edmund nods. “I want to see her now. To see if you are telling the truth.”

The secretary leads Edmund through the large, dark halls. The people passing him makes his blood boil. They haven’t done anything, but he’s ready to lash out in case anyone gives him a foul look. Anyone showing any signs of distrust need to be killed. Roughly. He will not be made a fool.

A maid opens the door to your shared chamber and Edmund walks over to the bed. For a few seconds, he doesn’t believe that it’s you sleeping under the white sheets. You look so awfully small in the big bed, so unbelievably broken. Your skin looks so weird compared to the white sheets … washed out, somehow. He hates it, absolutely despises it all. 

Edmund sits down on the side of the bed and takes your hand in his, sighing heavily at the state of you. Seeing your frail figure makes him even madder. Why aren’t you waking up? What have that creature done to you to make you look like this? His secretary was right, however, you seem to be doing a bit better. Your body heals. So why aren’t you waking up?

“I will punish them”, he whispers and kisses your forehead. It must be one of the sweetest gestures he has done since you disappeared and came back in whatever state you are in now. “I promise. I love you so much, my darling, I will make them pay.”

The guillotine is working over time. The blade is covered in blood, heads everywhere. Edmund has realized that all people about to be beheaded has either of three possible reactions. Pleading and crying, begging for forgiveness, and emotionless and accepting. He likes to guess who will have what reaction, and when he guesses right he gives himself a clap on the shoulder. He’s standing on the balcony, leaning forward against the railing with his arms resting on it. Smiling. It’s all a big game for him. Like how hurting you and covering up the deed is a big joke to them. But now he’s the hunter, and they’re the pray. They are the punchline in his joke. Not the other way around. His blood boils when he thinks about what the ones hurting you must have been thinking while performing such a merciless act. Were they thinking about him, about how mad he would be? Thinking: “we will have caused a reaction to form in him but he will not know who have done it”, in that case they were wrong. Everyone is punished for their stupid game.

“Please, please!” a woman screams, about to be beheaded. “I know who it was!”

Edmund freezes. 

“Wait!” he shouts to the man holding the rope controlling the blade. 

Edmund hurries down to the court yard and walks over to the woman with her head in the locked hole. He grabs her chin roughly, trying to direct her head up without luck. 

“Who was it?” Edmund spits. “Tell me their names.”

She seems to have lost all speaking ability when nearby Edmund. All color is drained off her face. She faints. Angrily, Edmund lets go of her chin, grabs the rope and lets the blade fall. Her head falls down on the gravel and rolls towards the others. No one says anything.

“Your majesty!” he hears his secretary shout. “The queen is awake!”  

Edmund feels his entire body go numb. He spins around, looking at the secretary in the doorway with large, shocked eyes. He runs after. 

You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

“Get out of my fucking way!” Edmund growls and shoved a maid into the wall when she tries opening the door for him.  

You’re laying in the bed, but your eyes are open! Edmund runs over and throws himself at you, hugging you tightly. You start to cry the second he wraps his arms around you and brings your face into his shoulder. He can’t believe that he’s holding you again, to feel your body tremble under his fingertips. He wants to cry. 

“It’s okay”, he whispers and caresses your hair as you sob against his neck. “Everything is okay, my dear. I’m here now, I will not let anything happen to you.”

He can feel his entire body relax. He has you back. Your shaking body feels so … alive. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks. 

You nod against his shoulder and try to pull back, out of his embrace. He doesn’t let you, he only moves you closer. What if you slip away when he lets you go?

“Not yet”, he whispers. “Stay with me a bit longer.”

His hands grab at you, trying to reassure himself that you are, indeed, alive. 

When he does let you go, your eyes are red with tears. He puts his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears carefully with his thumb. 

“I’m so sorry”, he mumbles and feels a stone in his throat. “I really am.”

“Your hand smells like blood …”, you whisper.

He becomes cold as your eyes start to widen in fear.  

“No, no, no!” he says quickly and grabs your face in his hands. “I will stop. Is that what you want? Hm? I-I’ll stop, I’ll show mercy to the ones left if you just give me the name of who … who hurt you. Okay? Please?

The name you give is one he’s familiar with. It’s suddenly clear why everyone wanted to shield the guilty one. His father is one of the richest men in the town. Edmund has yet to kill him. 

“I will take care of him”, he says. “Everything he did to you, I will do to him. I promise. Not more, not less.”

Your shaking hand takes his. Edmund gulps and lifts your intertwined to his lips and kisses. 

“I love you”, he whispers. 

“What is that?” you ask and point towards the forest.”Why is it so black?”

Edmund hesitates and hugs your other hand tighter. They have cleaned the entire court yard and scrubbed the walls so that you won’t have to see any of the horror that has occurred while you were unconscious, but he can’t replace the forest with a new one.

“A wildfire happened while you were unconscious”, he lies. “It was just fixed. Nothing to worry about.”

He continues to walk with you, hand in hand, through the large corridors. He’s on his way down to the dungeon where a certain someone is waiting for him. Edmund’s hands itch when he thinks about what he’s going to do to him. He can’t wait. 

You suddenly hug him. He flinches, but is quick to wrap his arms around you, to secure you against his body. You fit so well against him 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing”, you say, sounding shy. “Thank you for saving me. I think that I would be dead without you.”

“I would kill everyone in this world for you. You know that.”

But hearing you say ‘thank you’ to him, after everything hes done for — and towards — you causes his stomach to to fill with butterflies. He really would kill everyone for you. Over and over again. 

“I’ll have to leave you here”, he says as you reach the stairs down to the dungeon. “I have something to do. Will you wait for me here?”

“What are you going to do?” you ask hesitantly. 

Edmund smiles, showing off his teeth. “Play.”

[oukabarsburgblr]

Accidental Kidnapping [Reverse Trope AU]

FEATURING : CANDID MALE (OC) x male reader

How often does one check their car boot? No statistics for that but the same goes for our dearest (m/n) and maybe he should've opened it before driving home, unintentionally bringing an unwilling high-rank mafioso who thought the end of his life was in the trunk of your car.

reverse trope list (at the bottom), dubcon (on ocs end), con at the end, face riding, shitty inaccurate mafia depiction (i tried) profile

Find out more under the cut!

"Damn it! These guys aren't letting up-"

A bullet shot through the wooden pillar, effectively penetrating the man's head hiding behind it. Shouts and yelling of commands could barely be heard above the rain of gunfire at the entrance of the building.

Unfazed by the death of his associate, an individual crouched beside the waist-level brick wall. Strands of red hair that were loose from his hair bun tickled the nape of his neck, his sharp hazel eyes flickered before throwing a tantō behind him, killing a figure who tried to sneak up on him.

Half of his attire, premium Dolce suit, was drenched in blood, most of it didn't belong to him. His right heavily scarred hand gripping his sword's scabbath, his most famed weapon of choice.

Aito Sousuke.

Capo and a close associate to the underboss of a reknowned criminal organization. His dearest uncle, the caporegime, ordered him to settle a dispute and investigate a scheme their rival gang had carried out on the borders of their territory.

As soon as they had arrived to the building, a shootout occurred. And Sousuke's members retaliated with their own militia. Ultimately, they overpowered the mutts that creeped in on their area.

The redhead stepped over the pile of bodies, the building had an underground lab, his hand brushing over the white packets of powders on the metal table. Drug trafficking? That wasn't new to Sousuke. Did they lack clients in their own protectorate?

As his minions was sweeping out the rooms, one of them yelled in alarm, alerting Sousuke.

"Suicide bomber!"

Flashes of white struck his eyes as Sousuke was propelled to the floor by the explosions around the lab. It was an attempt to cover their tracks, getting rid of evidence in case of a blowout.

"Motherfuckers..."

Sousuke cussed, seeing his body was layered with the white powder that had torn and splattered all over him. Immediately, he threw his jacket off and abandoned the lab, the drugs effects were unknown so he didn't know how much of a danger he was in. He grabbed a piece of document his eyes laid on before abandoning the lab and his screaming minions.

Passing through the alleys, he attempted to make his way back to a safe place, their commute was jacked with bullet holes and Sousuke could feel his body slowly shaking and his legs becoming more heavy.

Reaching the end of the alley, he yelped when he tripped on the curb, his body now suddenly weak as he fell into a carboot that had been conveniently opened and it was closed shut.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Sousuke yelled out, banging on the cover of the hood, his surroundings now cramped with metal tools, making him panic even more with his arms suddenly growing limp.

"FUCKING LET ME OUT BEFORE I BLAST YOUR FACE OFF-"

A certain (h/c) hummed to the song he was listening on his headphones, the music blasting shielding your hearing senses, rendering himself unaware of the mafioso he had accidentally locked in the trunk of his car.

(m/n) (l/n) had just finished doing his shopping in a hardware store, buying screws, hammers, etc. to finish his mini renovation of his house. He lived in the suburbs so he had to travel quite far to reach the store. Blissful ignorance had coated him as he hopped inside his car and drove, unknown of the scared redhead in his carboot.

"Shit shit shit-" Sousuke cussed, trying to reach for his phone, he screamed in frustration having losing it in the shootout moments before. Backup is probably focusing on the target building and no one knows where he is currently. How the hell did this fucker got me?

Sousuke thought this guy was ballsy for targeting him, the culprit had to have planned this meticulously if they had managed to kidnap him out of all people.

"What should I have for dinner..." (m/n) hummed, blasting his radio as he turned his corners recklessly. The redhead shouted, his scabbard digging into his side, the side effects of the unknown drug was getting to him. His face getting hot and his body pulsing.

Finally arriving to his house, Sousuke thought it was a second location for torturing-, (m/n) exited his car, slamming his door as he took out a bag of groceries he had purchased as well. He entered his house, almost forgetting his items in the trunk as he left the door open and skipping to back to his car.

"I think tempura with udon should do nicely- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU??!!"

(m/n) screamed, stepping back seeing a redhead inside of his carboot. "HUH?? I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT- WHO DO YOU WORK FOR AND WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" The redhead screamed back at him, disorderedly searching for something inside of his drenched vest.

Is that blood- (m/n) panicked and reached for his phone to call the cops but the click of a gun stopped his movements as the bloodied stranger aimed the muzzle at him. "No cops." He hissed out, clenching his side.

The (h/c) stared at the muzzle, raising his hands. "...No cops." He repeated after the redhead. "Who are you?" "I-I'm nobody! Literally I have no idea who you are!" "You kidnapped me." Hazel eyes glared hard at him, his messy red hair now loose from his bun and his figure sitting up in the carboot.

"I didn't kidnap you?? YOU SNEAKED INTO MY TRUNK!" The average person would never have the balls to scream at a gun-holding bloodied person but (m/n) was flustered at the accusation of being a kidnapper albeit him only doing his errands.

Sousuke scanned the area, his breath heaving deeper and it was obvious he was far from his gang's territory. Either he was in the rival's or a civvie. He studied the (h/c), who was only wearing some long-sleeved shirt and slacks. This guy really tried to pretend he was normal-

"Fuckk-" He moaned in pain, the throbbing in his side worsening and the burn in his head increasing. Sousuke looked to the side and saw the open door of the suburban building. "That's your hideout?"

"Hideout-? YOU MEAN MY FUCKING HOUSE??" "Shut up. I need it. Help me inside." "And why would I do that?!" (m/n) yelled exasperated, his arms tired for holding it up for so long. Sousuke frowned. "You're willing to let your captive die? And here's this."

The redhead waved the gun in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. (m/n) contemplated his choices, staring at the glock and the scabbard he just noticed underneath his hand.

Unwillingly, the (h/c) helped the redhead, supporting him as they walked inside his house while he loudly complained about Sousuke staining his shirt with blood and that he wasn't a kidnapper. The redhead was annoyed and was dumbfounded on how someone was casually cursing and yelling at him.

As they stepped in and Sousuke forcefully closing the door shut, he groaned, the weight of the drug crashing down on him as he knocked over a lamp and stumbling in the living room. "That's brand new..." He heard (m/n) whining about his broken lamp.

"I...I need first aid. Now." His head was hot and he feel like he could die at any time, his heart beating irregularly and his legs spasming. "Don't you need a hospital instead-" (m/n) immediately swooped in, holding Sousuke's body up when he suddenly went limp, he just noticed his scorching temperature and his shivering body. "Woah, did you get poisoned or something?"

Hazel met (e/c) as Sousuke weakly gazed at (m/n), his bottom lip quivering, his eyes dazed and his face red. "Poison...?" He suddenly remembered the document he had snatched before escaping the building. "The drugs-" "DRUGS-?!" The redhead numbed out the rest of (m/n)'s words as he hurriedly searched for the paper, crumpled near his scabbard as his blurry eyes tried to scan the words on it.

"Shit shit- hey don't fucking die here!" Sousuke went limp in (m/n)'s hold, the (h/c) unable to hold up his dead weight, laid him on the sofa, Sousuke barely conscious as he was draped out on the furniture.

(m/n) noticed the paper and grabbed it, reading its contents out loud. "-new batch, target audience in the upper-tiered , target victims for sex trafficking??" The (h/c) glanced at the redhead, disgusted. "It's not me, you fucking idiot-" Sousuke coughed as he wiped his face, blood dripping from his nose. (m/n) fastened his reading, seeing the red liquid.

"-registering a small dose can be considered lethal, effects include muscle spasms, heightened senses, drowsiness, nausea, increased libido?? If not treated, symptoms will lead to a HEART ATTACK??!"

The (h/c) clenched the paper in his hands, the stranger had almost half of the effects already. "Are you in the fucking mafia or something-" He paused, remembering the sword and the gun the redhead held which was now on the floor. There's no way.... No way that a mafia member was now in his house, dying on his couch.

Sousuke let out unintelligible noises, something of a groan with saliva mixed as he laid on his side, his face flushed. (m/n) was now desperate to cure him or something, he didn't want to face the consequences of a gang chasing after him thinking he killed their member.

"-no treatment has been developed-" FUCK. "-as the victim must ejaculate to rid of the effects in his bodily system-" HUH? (m/n) reached the end of the paper, crumbling it in frustration, his eyes wide, contemplating whether should he just let the stranger die here in his living room.

Sousuke was convinced he was going to die here. His vision was wet and blurry, tears slipping out and his face was burning so much he felt he was going to melt at any second. He doesn't have any regrets he could come up with at the moment. Only the thought of his father laid in his mind along with his uncle.

Feeling his shirt shifting, he moaned when his pants were pulled down as he struggled to focus his eyesight. "Wuh-?" "Wake up. I'm gonna help you so don't kill me after this." The supposed kidnapper was snapping his fingers in his face, catching his focus. Why does he look embarrassed?

"The drug you took- roofied? I don't know but it's gonna kill you if you let it sit any longer in your system. You have to flush it out before you have a heart attack." "...So do I have to piss it out or what?" Sousuke felt drowsy while giving out half-assed answers. The (h/c) looked exasperated.

"Y-You have to...cum it out?"

Sousuke felt his breath stopped as he squinted his eyes at the (h/c) who looks flustered and waving the document trying to explain himself. "Is this your attempt at molesting me?" "FUCK NO!"

A gasp escaped Sousuke as his bloody nose dripped even more, he coughed out while his chest was heaving. "D- Just do whatever-" He groaned as he clutched his head in pain. "You better not kill me for this." His kidnapper grumbled while shuffling down Sousuke's wide pants, looking away as he tugged his briefs down.

"A-aanh mmff!"

The redhead covered his mouth, surprised at the sudden pleasure when a hand tugged his erect penis and began stroking it with a fast pace. "That fucking hurts-!"

"Just go through with it!" (m/n) yelled, mumbling an apology as he jacked off the redhead slower, he couldn't believe he's touching someone's bare dick, much less a mafia dude, to save his life out of all situations.

If the redhead died here, the police would've questioned how the hell did he end up in his house in the first place along with the drug in his system and a crime organization would've been after him the second that news spilled and who knows who they're in kahoots with.

Hence, why (m/n) decided to assist this stranger danger in masturbating so he could kick him out the second his life isn't threatened by some weird sex drug.

"You're enjoying this a bit too much..." (m/n) mumbled, now gazing at the redhead who was crying and moaning while bucking his hips up every time the (h/c)'s hand squeezed his base, precum dripping down his cock.

The redhead's head was fuzzy, the rush of pleasure coursing through his veins and he tried to keep his moans muffled. Tears slipping out of his eyes even more at the sensual gratification as his 'kidnapper' jacked him off. He felt his body was so sensitive, his thighs trembling and his body twitching.

(m/n) was frowning, sitting on the edge of the couch, trying his best to distract himself as he pumped the- , he just noticed how big it is, -cock in his hand. The moaning redhead on his couch wasn't helping either as he felt arousal strike his pants. His cheeks were hot, the mafioso's expression was a sight to see, his tanned skin red and wet from tears and sweat. Fuck was he always this handsome?

"S-Shit- mmngg ahh!"

He didn't realise how close he was to the redhead until the redhead came, semen spurting from his cock and few bits landed on his face. (m/n) stroked him for a while longer, letting him ride out his orgasm as he wiped his face clean.

Sousuke's body trembled, better than earlier when he was shaking almost like convulsing, his mind blank as he felt his legs slack. A blanket draped over his bottom half as the 'kidnapper' walked over to him, crouching near his face.

"Your temperature seems better. Guess it really did work." Wiping the redhead's face with a wet rag, picking off the blood near his nose as he pressed another cloth on his neck, cooling it down manually. (m/n) flinched when the redhead leaned into his touch who was enjoying the cool, he shyed away as he continued to wipe down the stranger.

Is this considered aftercare?

He wondered as he took the first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table in front of the redhead. "Take this and get out of here."

Sousuke only blinked up at him, now drowsy as he closed his eyes shut, forgetting all the dangers of sleeping in his 'kidnapper's' home as he fell into a slumber. His body was now relaxed, only a few bruises from the gunfight and his scabbard jammed into his side earlier.

"Remember- I HELPED YOU!" (m/n) screamed into the sleeping man's ear as he went to wash his hands in his sink, scrubbing it ferverently. He did his chores, closing his carboot which was left open the entire time, and tried to scrub out blood on his rug and furniture the redhead had left behind.

He might need to get a whole new sofa, the previously pristine furniture now stained with red and possibly baby batter.

(m/n) tried to put trust that the stranger would leave as soon as he woke up, believing at the fact that there was a misunderstanding where he thought the (h/c) tried to kidnap him so it makes sense that he would want to leave right? After he had oh so graciously saved his life?

His words were true when a couple of hours later, he heard his front door open and closed while he had barricaded himself in his bedroom with a baseball bat while reading through a novel, waiting for the stranger to leave.

Images of the redhead moaning and crying still lingered in his mind as it fueled his shameful arousal, (m/n) cussing on why someone who was possibly dangerous had to be so handsome.

-

"How are you, my nephew?"

A tall man, with short slicked back red hair clasped the shoulder of his supposed nephew who bore a similar colour in their tresses only Sousuke's were longer and was left to drape on his clothed back.

"I feel better now, sir. I thank you for your concern." Sousuke had been recovering at his uncle's estate, who was his caporegime, aka his boss, who was worried hearing his own flesh and blood had gone off the radar for a whole day and finding him injured and flustered at the borders of their territory.

"My assistant found the man you were looking into. Although it's a wonder why you're suddenly interested in him." He gestured to the file on the table besides them. Sousuke picking it up and flipping through the contents. "You did a good job at busting out the rats' lab, albeit our boys received a number on their amount."

Their organization had strict rules in their territory, which was how they maintained their influence over their city. So when rumours flew that drugs that were not in their regulations were being passed out in their district, they suspected it was sabotage. And it was, a new sex drug that was tested on their turf, to be used for malicious deeds. And Sousuke so happened to experienced it face to face.

"Do we have any dirt on him?" Sousuke questioned, skimming through the texts.

"No." The old man puffed a smoke, his expensive suit hugging his body while Sousuke was donning a loose haori. He was the only one who would wear traditional Japanese outfits despite being in a foreign country. It was a tribute to his mother who contributed to his half-Japanese genetics.

"Looks like a civvie. Recently moved to the out of city suburbs after graduating. Parents are clean. Never contacted any of our boys too."

Sousuke glared at the picture, the small photo of a man smiling. His eyes read the name. (m/n) (l/n). So he wasn't really a kidnapper... The redhead ordered for a background check of the (h/c), thinking he was still someone out to kidnap him but let him go for who knows why. Although his footman was confused when he described him in odd details, mentioning a nice body, pretty (e/c) eyes, etc..

It caught the attention of his uncle, so he did it for him.

"Has he done anything to you?"

The old man would kill anyone who would touch a single strand of his boy, his nephew, although they lived dangerous lives and Sousuke had proven himself to become a caporegime, he still looks out for his flesh and blood.

"...No, sir."

The hesitation was clear in Sousuke's voice. So it was a misunderstanding? A coincidence that he had landed in the car trunk and driven off to a secondar location which was (m/n)'s home?

Sousuke couldn't forget his touch. His fingers stroking and jacking off his cock, squeezing his base. He wasn't one to divulge in sexual desires, he was raised that lust was a weakness so for someone like him to experience that, it was a change for him.

-

(m/n) definitely felt like he was stalked.

A week had passed since that...incident. And he was relieved to find that the mysterious suit-wearing redhead didn't appear in his surroundings, giving him a sense of peace that he lucked out and the mafia was not after his ass.

Until he started noticing a minor detail.

A car was parked two blocks down from his house. He thought it belonged to the neighbours, but he had just noticed it would disappear every time he returned from his errands and would linger whenever he was home. He suspected it was the redhead.

Is he here for revenge? After I jacked him off?

(m/n) groaned into his palm, seeing that the car was still there as he walked up to his porch, carrying a few grocery bags.

Those bags fell to his floor when he caught sight of a man sitting on his furniture, his posture relaxed like he had been waiting for him. "YOU AGAIN?!" He screamed at the redhead.

Said stranger only frowned, crossing his arms, no guns or swords in sight. "If you keep hiding your key under your welcome rug, even a toddler can sneak into your house." (m/n) flinched at his words, as he walked straight past the man to set his bags on the kitchen island, ignoring how he followed him behind.

"You bought a new couch?" The redhead asked, tilting his head. (m/n) noted that he seemed to be a lot less of a screamer when he was sober. "Couldn't get the bloodstains out." He huffed. Or the cum spots as well.

That took a pretty penny out of his pocket. "...I could've paid for it." The (h/c) glanced at him weirdly as he closed his refrigerator door. "No need. I don't want to be associated with you." "You saved my life." "No need to remind me." "It was brave of you to-"

He slapped his hand over the redhead's mouth, his palm brushing against his lips. "I said no need for reminders. Hell, I don't even know your name and what you did. Why did you come here?" The redhead was silent, before gently pushing (m/n)'s hand away.

"The name's Sousuke."

The warm kitchen light complimented him well, (m/n) noticing his heavily scarred hands and his upper lip was nicked. His long red hair, resting on his back, he was wearing a black button up, a grey vest and matching pants.

"I'm here to settle my score."

(m/n) furrowed his eyebrows. "What score?" "My score with you." "I don't want a reward or anything like that. Just leave me alone." Sousuke's grip on his hand tightened. "I assumed the worst from you and was convinced you tried to harm me but instead you saved my life. I am indebted."

"You did fell into my trunk and I didn't notice so I think it's fair." Sousuke frowned at that. It was normal for people like him to repay their debts and he was confused why (m/n) was rejecting him. "Do you know how I work?" "I can guess but like I said, I don't want to be associated."

Sousuke fell silent before he turned around and walked away. "My men will provide protection for you. At least until my debt is repaid." "I don't need it!" "You do. You look weak." "FUCK YOU??"

(m/n) was about to throw a vase at the redhead before said redhead had exited his house, closing his door. He hurriedly went to lock it and screamed in annoyance. Am I going to have more scary people following me now or what?

That's close to what happened. (m/n) noticed that scary men would follow close to him and it would be different people on a different day and they followed him almost everywhere. He caught them blending in the crowd, sipping drinks when he was relaxing at a cafe of pretending to go through the cereal section when he was shopping for the week's restock.

He had enough of it.

"Tell your fucking boss that I don't want his stupid protection!" He confronted one of the man when he slipped into an alleyway to corner him, said man only stayed silent and nodded before (m/n) left him.

The next day, he received a gift. An expensive table lamp that didn't suit the rest of his aesthetic but he remembered that Sousuke did broke one of his lamps. He used it in his bedroom's bedside table instead.

"Can you at least tell me when you're going to sneak into my house?" He scowled, seeing the redhead at his kitchen island, casually flipping through a comic book he owned as he sipped a cup of coffee.

"I see you carry your keys now." "Yeah. So how the hell did you get in?" "Spare." "MOTHERFUCKER-"

A few weeks passed by and this had become his new norm. Sousuke would drop in his house, every few nights or so, claiming that he needed somewhere to stay low even though all he did was lounge in the living room flipping through tv channels.

(m/n) at first was irked by this, threatening to kick him out or call the cops but he got used to it and sometimes would even make extra dinner so the redhead wouldn't finish his.

Sometimes, Sousuke would come in bloodied and that scared (m/n), him remembering who he was dealing with but the demeanour he carried was so different than the man he was supposed to be.

His words were straightforward and tone bland, he only seemed mad when he thought (m/n) was trying to kidnap him and now he was gentle? No, it was more like he was relaxed around the (h/c).

"Do you have a hairtie? I lost mine."

And somehow, (m/n) felt like he has a roommate now, buying stuffs that he thought Sousuke would need them such as more bandages or hairties or claw clips for his long hair. Slowly, he felt like he could call themselves friends with how often the redhead was around him.

Sousuke never brought the whole drug thing after that, not even mentioning it in the slightest and (m/n) was confused. Shouldn't he be mad that someone helped him masturbate when he was drugged? Was this normal for him??

And sometimes in the late nights, (m/n) would think about his twitching hips, his wet crying face and his guttural desperate moans and his large cock- He would get hard at times. Looking away whenever Sousuke gazed at him a bit too long, moving to a different room when he felt that the redhead touched him too casually.

He caught his face flushed a couple times and he didn't know what to make of it, only shoving it deep in the back of his mind. Into the vault it goes.

It was one of those nights, where Sousuke would randomly appear in his house and they would eat dinner together, with civil oddly enough.

"I'm trying to get the heater for my shower working again but I might need to contact my realtor for that since it happened way before I moved here." (m/n) rambled, slurping the noodles he had made as Sousuke wiped the edge of his mouth with his hands.

"Mhm. So what are you going to do next?" He would listen to the (h/c) long conversations, only chipping in an answer or two since he couldn't exactly contribute much to the talk as his life was far from a civvie's. His uncle was beginning to question why the hell did he spent so many time out of their domain.

Sousuke kept telling himself that he wanted to repay his debt, watching over him until he saved the (h/c)'s life in a similar manner to how (m/n) did but truthfully, he wanted to stick around. The peace he had around (m/n) was bliss compared to the havoc he had been born and raised in his crime-filled life.

And he couldn't help but think he was starting to fall for the (h/c), their petty arguments, their meals together was healing his soul. He couldn't help but think to that incident, the sinful pleasure (m/n) had brought him, his hand wrapped around his cock, he tried to recreate it by himself but it could never suffice.

There is the fact that the drug did amped the libido effects but he didn't want anything nor anyone else to do it, except for (m/n). But he didn't know if the (h/c) even desired for him. With his ugly scarred body.

Now here they were, sitting next together on the couches as a movie played in front of them, (m/n) focusing on the screen while Sousuke paid no mind and opted to subtly stare at the (h/c) instead, his eyes lingering on his lips and darting away when he caught sight of his (s/c) skin from the collar line of his shirt.

"F-Fuck, you're so good to me!"

(m/n) quickly grabbed the remote, speeding the movie up when a sex scene appeared. Anything sexual related was heavily avoided by the (h/c) whenever he was around Sousuke.

"Do you...abhor these things?" (m/n) raised an eyebrow at Sousuke's sudden question. "What?" The redhead pointed at the tv. "Action movies?" "Sex." He choked on his saliva, patting his chest as he calmed himself down. "I don't think much of it. Why the hell are you asking me that?"

Sousuke was silent, his hazel eyes not meeting (m/n)'s as he stared at the tv. "I don't...divulge in it. Not as much as the average person do." But every mafia movies always had girls around them. (m/n) wondered, cupping his chin.

"It was my first that I was touched. In this room." (e/c) eyes widened as he turned to the redhead. "That was your first time??" When (m/n) had stroked his dick...that was his first time ever doing so?

"I was taught lust is for the weak." Sousuke turned to (m/n), his face holding a monotone expression although something dark was in his eyes. "...Yet my strength wavers around you."

Heat crawled up his neck as (m/n) covered his mouth with his hand. Is this- a confession?! When he turned around, Sousuke's face was close. So close that their breaths mingled and his red hair was brushing against his face. The redhead's ears were bright red, complimenting his tanned skin.

"I want more." He whispered, his eyes dazed with desire.

(m/n) was stunned, his lips slowly moved to speak. "Are you drunk?" "I'm sober." Sousuke's hand moved to grip his thigh. "And I want you. Please." He spoke in such a low manner as he delved his face into the (m/n)'s shoulders, his breathing hot and heavy.

The (h/c) felt his arousal rise, his face flushed and biting his lower lip. Sousuke's body was heavy on his and he could feel all the muscle lying underneath. "J-Just this once, okay?"

Sousuke slowly pulled back as he gazed into (e/c), his face completely red as he gently pressed his lips onto (m/n)'s.

-

"Like this?"

A slurping noise struck and (m/n)'s moans followed. "Y-Yeah you can take it in deeper- mmff!" His pants were gone, his bottom bare and Sousuke was taking his cock in his mouth, the latter saying he wanted to try everything out and the second on his list was a blowjob.

Sousuke moved his throat further in, taking more of (m/n)'s dick as he calmly breathed in through his nose. His tongue swiping at the base of the penis, pressing and feeling its veins with his wet muscle, unintentionally applying light pressure which further pleasured the (h/c).

They were on the couch, a hilarious parallel as (m/n) laid on the other end with Sousuke pulling his hips up, pushing his face deep in between his thighs. His mouth sucked (m/n)'s cock, alternating between being gentle and full-on milking his precum, the (h/c) screaming having being so stimulated.

"Aanghh ah ah s-stop! You're so rough- mmff!"

Sousuke pulled himself off with a pop, gazing down at the sweaty (h/c) whose shirt was pushed down, revealing his (s/c) torso. The redhead's nose brushed (m/n)'s thigh and he bit into it, sucking and licking the mark making the (h/c) cry out.

"You good?" (m/n) nodded, taking in deep breaths. "Y-Yeah. Haa haa..." "I want to do one of those numbers." "Numbers?" He hummed. "Was it 127? Or 68?" "You mean a 69?" "Whatever it was I want to try it." The (h/c) readied himself. If this proclaimed virgin really tired him out at his first blowjob, he couldn't imagine him eating his ass out.

"Okay- ah!"

-

(m/n) was crying, his legs shaking as he tried his best to lick the dick in his face, only able to give the tip a messy kiss before crumbling on Sousuke's torso.

The redhead was having the time of his life, spitting, fingering, thrusting his tongue in (m/n)'s asshole, playing with his puckered hole until the (h/c) began to cry on his cock, choking and gagging saliva all over his penis as he numbly thrusted into (m/n)'s mouth.

"T-Too much mmngghh urgh angh mmn!" He sobbed out, feeling one of Sousuke's knuckles rubbing his rim while the tip of his fingers were pressing against his sensitive walls, trying to find his prostate.

Easily pulling him up, Sousuke pushed (m/n), letting him grip onto his arms for balance as he forced the (h/c) to sit on his face. His nose brushing his ass crack and his tongue massaging his balls. (m/n) tried to raise himself only for his thighs to be pulled back down and gripped tightly as Sousuke ate his ass out.

His butt was dripping with saliva and precum by the time Sousuke released him, he heaved and whimpered while the redhead held him close, wrapping his arms around him and shoving his tongue down his throat, drawing more of those cries that he realised he loves so much.

-

The (h/c) refused to believe that Sousuke was a virgin. Not with how he pushed his legs up to his chest, his knees touching his shoulders while sloppily fucking him up, pressing his full weight on the (h/c).

Sousuke wanted to see his face while they commit this sin, his face hot as he licked (m/n)'s salty tears, kissing his eyes and nose and he bit his earlobe too.

"S-So good! You're fucking me so good, Sousuke- aanggh!" He cried out, digging his nails in the redhead's clothed shoulder whose hair was now free and framing his face, intensifying the look of pleasure on the redhead.

"I'm glad- aanhh mmng! You're so hot, (m/n). So fucking handsome- hngg ahh!" He praised the (h/c), tears slipping out of his hazel eyes while moaning ardently into the (h/c)'s ear. His hips met (m/n)'s ass at a fast pace, wet squelches filled the living room as the sofa was slowly stained again with disgusting baby batter.

(e/c) eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clenched himself around Sousuke, feeling his orgasm pull through as his cum stained his own stomach and Sousuke's shirt. The redhead came as well, seeing (m/n)'s expression as he defiled the (h/c)'s ass for the third time that night.

Cum dripped out of the rim of his ass, Sousuke pulled out to see the naked (h/c) trembling under him, his cheeks wet with tears, his chin coated with drool and his skin littered with hickies and bitemarks in contrast with himself, Sousuke was still fully clothed except for his exposed crotch as he felt his knees almost buckling from the intense sex they had.

"Y-You're a liar. You're definitely not a dumb v-virgin." (m/n) pointed to Sousuke, his finger shaking while the redhead only hoisted the (h/c) onto his back, intending to carry him upstairs into bed. "I'm not lying." He almost stumbled down the staircase, quickly holding onto the wooden rail as he pulled himself and (m/n) up and recklessly staggered into the master bedroom, crashing onto the lush bed.

His legs were shaking lightly, this was truly his first and overboard was a statement of his performance. Sousuke laid like a starfish on a bed, pulling (m/n) under his armpit while grabbing a duvet and covering them both.

"We'll clean up in the morning. Now sleep." He shushed the (h/c) who was about to retort, immediately succumbing to slumber, not even giving a second to stay awake any longer as the post-sex was as tiring as it is.

(m/n) frowned, adjusting himself under Sousuke's hold, letting himself drift to sleep as well. This might not be the last time he lets Sousuke fuck his body. Who knows, maybe getting involved with a mafioso isn't all that bad.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts:

Sousuke a munch frfr

I'm aware of the similarities in Daisuke's and Sousuke's names- ITS RELEVANT TO FUTURE PLOT OK

This fic kinda sucks ngl💀

I'm a PARENT atp for feeding you guys for the past two weeks since i made this acc😭

If i have to write a part 2, i would either write about how m/n got upset and ran away to sulk and smutty sex scene next or just them messing around w the sex drug (some bdsm???) HOHO comment for more ya sluts.

Oh and follow my tag pretty please

more of aito sousuke! 𖤓

[lilacgaby]

i guess i'm stuck forever by the glue,

oh, and you.

pairing: spiderman!megumi x reader

synopsisꨄ: you and megumi have been on and off for a while, one situation to another has you two webbed together. not like either of you mind. wc: 3k

tags: fem!reader, cursing, fighting, use of she/her, drinking, yuuji is the goat, suggestive (kissing(???)), fluff, pet names, college!au, megumi has a lip piercing. yeah.

as megumi swung back from a night full of work, greeting his roommate yuuji with a fist bump and an exhausted smile as he pulled up his mask, he laid down on his bed exhausted.

his black webbed suit now discarded by the bed as he stared up to the ceiling of his room. his chest heaving slightly as he put an arm over his eyes, blocking out all light so he could sleep for a couple hours before it all began at nine.

not.

he had classes today, classes he dreaded for one reason. you.

something happened between you that should've never been given a single thought, never should've been conceived even in his mind.

he'd kissed you. and that was putting it lightly.

it was at some random college party he'd been convinced to go to by yuuji, he had been taking down cans of cheap beer mindlessly, the bottle now a bit crushed in his hand as he saw you walk in.

fitted dress, hugging you so right. jewelry shining in the dim light of the party, but this place was forgotten as his eyes settled on you. and yours in him.

a lot of the party was a blur in his mind, events playing together and becoming one because the only thing he kept focused on was you.

he thinks you drank a lot too, he can't quite remember. his hand slaps over his eyes in frustration, because the one part he thinks he'll never forget plays in his head on repeat.

your lips on his, you on his lap as his hand held you against him. you were on a bed, how did you get there? he didn't know but didn't care. his hand tilting your head slightly, with the feeling of your hands in his hair. the piercing on his lip rubbing almost addictively painful against yours, his tongue almost slipping in your mouth until–

todo. his stupid upperclassman barged in, a comically loud gasp coming from his lips as he yelled, “megumi and [name] are making out in here!”

safe to say you jumped off of him pretty quick, his hands ripped off your waist as he stood to attention, you shoving past him as you left. megumi shot an annoyed glare as he walked past him, only for yuuji to laugh in his face as he settled back onto the couch of the living room.

“what?” megumi grunted, he was already annoyed, he didn't need yuuji laughing at him right now.

“it's just..” yuuji pointed a finger to his face, before cracking an impossibly wider smile. “you have lipstick all over your face megumi.”

after throwing a pillow at yuuji’s face, he went home.

but you've been on his mind ever since, and he didn't know what to do about it.

you've been ‘friends’ for a while, only because of mutual relations between your other friends. but you'd always had this weird connection between you two. sharing wired headphones during school trips, lending a shoulder to sleep on, studying together.

he'd hate to think it'd be lost just because of a drunken— no it wasn't an accident. far from it. but he just wished he talked to you before it got that far.

with a groan, he shoves his head into a pillow, letting out a muffled scream.

he finally felt his thoughts calm down, his eyes closing as he fell asleep..

and awoke to the beeping of his alarm clock. he threw a web at it and stuck it to the wall. this was going to be annoying.

you seemed to be just as awkward as he was about this whole ordeal, fingers playing with each other as you avoided eye contact with him at all cost.

not like he fared any better, anytime he tried to start up conversation with you, his eyes would fall to your lips and make him flush red.

just two hopeless idiots.

class ended with no words spoken between you two and a voice screaming at him to do something. anything.

but he didn't, and you were already gone. he sighed before packing up and heading back to the dorm.

yuuji had become sort of like his intelligence.. though it wasn't the best idea megumi ever had, he was good hearted about it at least.

as megumi snacked on a bunny-shaped popsicle, yuuji looked shocked to see him. he looked at him blankly before starting, “i didn't think you'd be here.”

megumi squinted, “why wouldn't i be in my own house?”

“because doc oc attacked by one of the school dorms?”

a moment of silence passed, the bunny now miserably dripping down the drain forgotten, as megumi ran to put his suit on. “lead with that shit, idiot!”

he zipped out the window of his room, yuuji yelled out behind him, “dorm 5-C!”

megumi swung quickly, the black and white suit making him stand out in the broad daylight as he sped over there. landing a kick on the face of the man controlling the robotic suit, before landing perfectly on the top of the dorm.

“hey freak. don't you have anything better to do?” he mocked, before webbing down one of their arms.

“oh, nice of you to finally show up, spiderman.” the man spoke, attempting to grab him but slamming his hand down onto the building instead. “so slow, what if i'd killed someone already?”

“you think you're that good?” he sped over to land a kick on the main body of the mission, making the man keel over.

“no, i know so.” the man retorted, before slamming down three arms at once. he missed megumi entirely, but one section of the dorm was now completely cut off.

‘crap’. megumi thought, before attaching a string of web to the man's neck. “can you be more considerate next time?” before he could swat it off, a wave of venom passed through his neck, paralyzing him.

megumi, after breathing a sigh of relief, quickly did a once-over of the damaged area. swinging by only to see you, standing at the broken off chunk of what must've been your room with a horrified look.

you stared blankly at the outside, an odd look on your face. the boba that you stopped to get at the cafe now dropped on the floor.

megumi rushed over to you, moving you from the dangerous edge as he instinctively asked, “[name]! are you okay?”

you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion as he held you close. “..spider-man? why do you know my name?”

shit.

“uhh. i.. know one of your friends? he spoke of you once.”

“really? who?”

“um.. oops.. his name must of slipped my mind.”

“oh?”

“just– listen, you've got to find someone to stay with. sorry about this, but your dorm is wrecked.”

it seemed to get your attention off the topic for a second you looking over and mentally crying at all your lost things. “aw man, my stuff.”

he finally let you out his embrace so you could start calling up people to let you stay with them. “um.. i'm really sorry about this [name].”

“it's not your fault spider-man,” you said while texting, “i probably would be dead if you didn't come when you did. so thank you.”

you gave him a polite smile, before he nodded and swung off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, slumping over at his desk, changing quickly so he could just be done.

he walked out his room, sweatpants hung low as he went to go get another bunny popsicle, only for this one to meet the same fate as its predecessor when he saw you walk in with yuuji.

“hey megumi!” yuuji waved, his eyes wide as if to signal something.

“she's gonna be staying here, since her dorm was ruined by a villain. isn't that horrible?”

“why are you being weird?”

“i'm not?”

megumi stood jaw slack at the implications of living with you, his face flushed before he let out a small. “okay.”

weeks living with you weren't bad. you were a good roommate, you'd clean, do your part of the dishes, hang out as you three, it was all good.

he'd let you borrow his clothes, his sweatshirts and pants became you new style. since his fight with that villain had left you without any clothes.

everything had been fine, you'd even hung out in his room one on one once, lazing about as you laid on the silken sheets, not knowing how you were affecting him.

one day, an altercation with some random villain had left him bleeding from the stomach, stumbling as he walked in. he only managed to make it to the living room, before falling onto the floor. he didn't have his suit on thankfully, he had been caught off guard and had to fight without it, but he'd never missed the slight protection it gave him until now.

you saw him, keeled over on the floor, and rushed to his side. “megumi? what's–” you let a sharp gasp escape your lips at the sight of the blood puddle under him. you flipped him over as gentle as you could, pulling up his shirt and running to find a kit.

you didn't think you'd ever need to use your sewing skills for skin, but you were weaving the needle in and out of the huge wound with precision, ignoring the tears burning at you eyes.

you didn't know what was going on with him, why'd he'd leave at random hours throughout the night and come back bruised every time. but you couldn't find it in yourself to ask.

now you wish you did.

“megumi?” he was out cold, face still as you poked his cheek gently. you dabbed at his wound, cleaning it up before getting yuuji to help him into his bed.

he woke up alone, his wounds even from the months before having been taken care of. when he walked in to the kitchen, only to have you grab his hand.

“megumi.”

“ah. [name].” his eyes were wide as he stared at your grip on him. “what.. what do you do when you go out? you come back all.. bruised and stuff.”

crap.

“i.. i can't tell you.”

you gripped his hand tighter at that, before letting go completely. “‘kay. but,” you held up a finger to his face. “i'll take care of your injuries everyday.”

his eyes widened impossibly, before a small smile overcame his face. “yeah? sounds good.”

that's how he found himself, every night with your hand tending anything that ailed him. you'd make jokes about what you think he was out doing, beating up underclassmen or whatnot. until.. he left his mask in plain vision once.

“hey, why do you have spider-man's mask in here?”

his breath hitched, eye catching the object that fell out of the closet he shoved it in.

“uh.. i'm.. spider-man's friend?” he mentally face palmed.

…

“oh!” you said, eyes brightening. “now i get it! wouldn't you believe it if i said that i met spider-man when my dorm like.. got destroyed?”

“yeah. uh– he told me.”

“oh! he said he had a friend, i didn't know it was you!”

“yeah i help him. research and stuff, get caught in the aftermath a lot.”

“that makes sense. you're so cool megumi.”

he flushed, becoming hyper aware of your hands on his.

“yeah, whatever.”

your almost nightly ritual was only cut off by a party your friend was throwing. you were so excited, not having gone to one since your dorm room was destroyed.

until you needed someone to help zip up your dress. with your friends half an hour away, you wrapped a towel around yourself and knocked on megumi’s door.

“yo–” whatever he was going to say got caught in his breath at this sight of you, clad in a towel.

“hey megumi. can you help me real quick?”

he ripped his eyes off of you momentarily, before averting his eyes and gesturing for you to come in.

he almost freaked out when you dropped the towel, only to see a gorgeous dress underneath. “can you zip me up? i can't reach.”

he sucked in a deep breath, before putting a thumbs up.

with shaky hands he zipped up your dress, instinctively you turned around. “how do i look?”

he couldn't voice his words, but as you saw the gulp that came over him, you knew you looked good. with a pat on the back and a, “see you there!” you set off.

and you found yourself in the same position as the last time, except he was on top of you, your hands pulling him closer as your legs wrapped around him. same bed too, not that it mattered.

you felt the same pressure from his piercing from last time, you two weren't nearly as drunk as then though. it was bruising your lip, you two were breathless, his hands moved, about to hold your face when–

his phone rang. you both jumped, but when he saw who it was he knew he had to answer. it was yuuji, and he wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. “sorry.” is all he said before he went outside.

he always kept his suit near him, so he slipped it on and went to the site where it was reported doc oc would be. being he escaped prison and all.

you were upset and angry in all senses of the word. you stormed out into the streets, the cold biting your skin as you stomped away. only to find yourself… entangled in an iron hand.

“spider-man likes you, right?” a man asked, warped voice behind you. “stay still and i won't hurt you. too bad.”

you were dragged, silent as to not upset this strange man. he settled over a random building, holding you over an edge.

“stay quiet 'til he gets here, i don't wanna hear you scream.”

—-

all the information had been wrong, doc had been on the complete opposite side of the city. with a screaming yuuji in his ear, he now knew the villain held you in his grasp. great.

the guy was shaking you around over the edge, the one you were tumbling over mentally was now physical as the far distance to the bottom loomed under you.

his heart sped up at the sight of you, he made his presence known. “hey, how'd you escape from the psych ward?”

“it was confinement, and i don't owe you any answer spider-man! you'll let me beat you down or– or i'll throw your girlfriend off this roof.” the villain shook you slightly, making you yelp.

“you won't be doing anything.”

“oh, yes i will.”

the arm with you encircled in it raised, he sped over to web the base of his body to the ground, kicking the control in with his leg.

the dome surrounding the villains body shattered, leaving a shaking man in its wake.

“d-don't hurt me! or i'll–”

a punch by the side of his head shut him up. “put her down, before i put you down.”

“i– i can't! that arm is broken! t-the whole panel is!”

he looked and sure enough he was right, the control buttons were electrified and tweaking.

he scoffed. “stay here, actually.” he webbed him down, with a little venom just to be safe.

he walked calmly on top of the arm, seeing the relief form on your lips bruised from him.

“hey pretty.” he said, not knowing where the sudden confidence came from.

“spider-man! thank god.” you breathed a sigh. “yeah, don't thank me yet.” he muttered. “you have to trust me [name]. can you do that for me?” he asked, looking right at you as he stood over the only thing keeping you alive.

“i mean.. yeah.”

“okay then. you're going to fall. but i'm going to catch you, okay?”

you nodded, closing your eyes. “okay. don't worry, i got you.”

before you knew it you were falling, you screamed obviously, because you stupidly opened your eyes to the cars moving below. the lights blinding as you fell closer and closer, until you were suddenly in the embrace of him.

“are you okay?” he asked, looking at your face of pure shock at the feeling of being swung around. “yeah, now that you're here! this is so cool!” he smiled, the fabric of his mask wrinkling as he took you to your unknowingly shared home, though he took the long route.

he was a bit too happy when he dropped you off at your window, antsy as you finally settled in. “thank you, spidey.”

“ah, it's nothing. just doing my job you know?” he smirked, you nodded. you tilted you head slightly as you moved towards him, heart in your throat as you put your hand under the neck of his mask, lifting it up just to reveal his lips.

“what, you trying to pay me for my trouble?” he genuinely didn't know why he was acting on his impulses so much around you, maybe it was the freedom of being spiderman. but you didn't mind as you kissed him. sparks flew, almost literally.

a lightbulb went off in your head, you gasped when you felt the metal of his piercing nudge against the sensitive bruise on your lip from earlier.

no way. “megumi?”

he froze, before a small, “hi?” escaped him.

you pulled off his mask, green eyes greeting you and a messy bunch of hair that you have no idea how it fit being revealed. all you could do was laugh, before planting another kiss on his lips.

“you're so dumb. but i guess i am too, huh?”

a smile overcame his lips, matching yours as he let out a small laugh too.

“guess we are.”

the night ended with you two in each others arms, him speaking on his experiences as spider-man and you questioning him on it. his hands now playing with your hair.

“name slipped your mind huh?” you joked, reminiscing on your first conversation with spider-man.

“tch, shut up.” he grumbled, before silencing you with a kiss. he physically didn't want to be far from you anymore, he held you even closer. even if you poked fun at him.

a webbed seal of fate tied you two together, a web woven by cupid themself.

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna needs the house and you want a smoothie

college!sukuna masterlist

"yo, i need the house on saturday," grunts sukuna, freshly woken up, coming inside the kitchen. his hair is all ruffled, just like his sweatpants and his black t-shirt.

"what for?" you hum, seated at the kitchen table, drumming your pencil on the smooth surface. you were just starting to do your homework, but you could use a break.

"blind boy and girl boy wanna have a friends gathering, or whatever the fuck they called it," he croaks out, opening the fridge and taking big gulps of the cold water bottle inside of it.

"who?" you ask, confused, turning off your headphones. he rolls his eyes.

"satoru and suguru," he responds, deadpan, opening a bunch of cabinets and throwing fruits in the blender.

"i have someone over on saturday, but you can have the living room." there's a pregnant pause in the room. nobody moves for 3 long seconds. "hey, can i have some of that smoothie?" you ask him, breaking the icy atmosphere, pointing at the light green mixture he has in front of him.

he raises one eyebrow, rubbing his eye with his fist. like a big, massive toddler.

"no. make your own one," he yawns, plopping down in front of you. you frown. asshole.

"but i'm lazy. what if i die from hunger?" you whine.

"can't help you with that," he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

"please?" you try, doing your best puppy eyes.

"i said no, woman," he sighs, putting one of his hands under his chin, looking over at your discarded sheets of paper all over the table before slowly raising his gaze to your eyes. "who's the fuck buddy, by the way?" he says roughly, trying not to make his eyelid tic. Another man inside his walls. Inside your walls, too. Fantastic.

"none of your business. i don't talk with bitches who don't share their food," you grumble, jutting your bottom lip out, wearing your headphones again. he flips you off.

"tell me who is it," he tries to pry. you ignore him, whistling the song you're currently listening to. he growls your name, trying to get your attention, but he doesn't get any reactions out of you.

"hellooo," comes yuuji's voice from the door. you raise your head, bypassing the currently scowling bulging creature in front of you, and smile softly at the kid, waving your hand. his little feet do a light pit pat on the ground when he walks.

"hey, 'kuna, can i have some of your smoothie?" asks excitedly the child, coming near you two.

sukuna huffs. "no. learn how to fend for yourself. there are brats your age who have children of their own," he grits out, glaring at him, then turning his mean gaze toward you. yuuji cries out your name, trying to get you on his side.

"yuu, your brother is mean. let's go live somewhere else, just me and you," you coo to your youngest roommate, receiving a decisive nod, opening your arms to let him hug you. his brother scoffs.

"can we visit him sometimes, though?" timidly says the kid from beneath your head, wrapping his short arms around your middle.

"nah. go on, you two can finally get the fuck out of my way. i'm never opening the door for you again," smirks sukuna, getting up to wash his glass, now empty.

"mean!" you both scream in unison, turning around to see that he has his back turned toward you.

he just chuckles, grabbing more fruit to put in the blender. he has two mouths to feed, apparently.

[kurooh]

GENIE IN A BOTTLE ☆ S. GOJO

⊹₊˚. are you imagining this? after picking up a pretty bottle you found on the street, you find yourself face to face with a man who appeared in your room, claiming to be a genie. if you help him become a human again by breaking a curse, you’ll be granted one wish . . but the curse requires you to fuck him?

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, creampies, unprotected sex, oral [f!receiving], doggy/prone bone??, silliness, furniture breaks. | 3.7k words

xoxo, juno. the bottle is the same shape as the one from ‘i dream of jeannie’ but it’s blue and made of glass

“stop throwing books at me! i already told you, i’m a genie and i came from the bottle!”

the ‘genie’, who’s identified himself as satoru gojo, pleads desperately with you and shakes his head frantically at the sight of two more heavy books in your grasp.

“bullshit!” you shout, throwing another book at him that he manages to dodge. it slams into the wall loudly and his nose scrunches in either fear or irritation. “genies don’t exist.”

it seems like those words provoke a reaction. satoru gojo wordlessly takes a step toward you, holding his glass bottle tightly. in seconds, his face has grown serious, and he’s set his fierce azure gaze on you, jaw clenched tightly.

“oh yeah?” he challenges you. the tone of his voice is enough for you to drop the book you’d been holding onto. “i’m right here, aren’t i?”

“but that’s not—genies aren’t real,” you utter, intimidated by him but still stubborn till the end. “how could you possibly prove that you actually are one?”

there’s a sparkly puff of smoke that dissipates quickly, and the glass bottle teeters on the floor in the genie’s place.

this can’t be real. how did you manage to bring a fucking genie into your home? you’d simply picked up an interesting blue glass bottle that had been beside a trash can on the street; you’d placed it on a table and then turned to grab some materials to clean it up, and once you’d returned, the bottle had been tipped onto its side. this was when you should’ve trashed it — but you didn’t, and instead washed it, then began shining the glass with a cloth to restore its appearance.

the top of the bottle shot off and suddenly you were face to face with a disturbingly handsome man sitting with criss crossed legs on the table. the glass bottle had fallen to the floor, but it hadn’t shattered at all.

after a lot of screaming, you’d learned that this man was supposedly a genie, and his name was satoru gojo. apparently, he hadn’t been out of his bottle for decades. he was in the middle of talking when you’d jumped back in fear, then started throwing books and whatever else at him in an attempt to ward him away.

it was irrational, and even he was confused, but he’d done his best to be patient with you.

satoru appears again, bottle in his hand. his fingers are wrapped around the glass neck, and a smirk of triumph plays on his lips. you’re shellshocked and sputtering, not sure what to say. you are easily the most entertaining human he’s met in his time. when he’s free from the bottle and able to talk to his friends, he’ll definitely tell them about you.

“is that enough proof for you, princess?”

your glare is piercing, but he laughs. “o-okay, let’s get back to what you were talking about earlier. how do i get rid of you?”

satoru clicks his tongue, mildly offended. “you’re not even interested in wishes?”

“wishes?” your heart floats back up to your chest.

“ooh, that piqued your interest, didn’t it?” satoru laughs, setting the bottle down on the table. “wishes aren’t free, y’know. if you want one, you’ll have to do something for me. a quid pro quo, right?”

“yeah, that’s the word,” you eye him suspiciously, “keep talking.”

“so, i was essentially cursed, that’s why i’m stuck in this bottle,” satoru explains, his hands moving as he talks, “i’ve met plenty of humans throughout the years, and each of them has helped me with one part of the curse. there’s ten parts in total, and you’ve got the last aspect of the curse to help me with..”

satoru gojo is strangely attractive for a genie. can someone who’s been alive for thousands of years, living out that time in a glass bottle, look as though he’s just turned thirty? his features are not at all marred by age, his skin supple and his hair thick. wait, maybe his hair is white from age? snowy tendrils hang just over his eyebrows, which are the same color. you don’t know what genies would wear—you didn’t think they were real—but you suppose the white tobi pants and tight black shirt suit him well.

your eyes flit from his face to the bottle. the glass is uniquely shaped, with a thick, rounded base. the neck is narrow, and the glass is textured in different patterns and swirls. his eyes are the same blue as the bottle . . maybe that’s part of the curse?

“…essentially, you’re supposed to have sexual relations with me.”

your head snaps from the bottle to his face, practically giving you whiplash. “i’m supposed to—what!?”

satoru swallows, sighing through his nose. “listen, i didn’t ask for a tenfold curse to be put on me. i’ll give you your wish, no questions asked, if you help me out.” even though he’s pretending to be disappointed, his voice betrays him, tone growing cheeky at the end of his sentence.

“oh, please. you seriously want me to . . fuck you? a genie who’s thousands of years old?”

a laugh bursts forth from his lips and heat rises to your cheeks as you actually picture fucking him. “it is not funny! y’know what, i bet that’s not even the tenth proportion of the curse, you’re just—” it takes a moment for the proper word to come to mind. the whole situation is so insane it has you getting hysterical, voice pitching. “—deprived!”

“deprived?” satoru chuckles, his voice smooth. “who knows, maybe it isn’t for the curse . . maybe it is. what does it matter, though? you’ll get your wish.”

“y-you’re old! not even human, either!” at this point, you’re coming up with excuses to deny the side of you that genuinely wants to. satoru catches on, he’s not stupid; he can tell you’re prolonging this discussion likely because you’re nervous. how cute of you, he thinks.

“correction, i was once human,” satoru clicks his tongue, “and secondly, all that age means i’ve got plenty of experience. shouldn’t that be a good thing for you, little one?” as if his words weren’t already charming enough, he throws in a wink, his cheek lifting cutely.

you swallow nervously, about to enter into an otherworldly contract with this genie. “fine. we’ll have sex . . you won’t be cursed anymore, and i’ll get my wish afterwards.”

“let’s shake on it, then.” his larger hand envelops yours, and after a moment passes, he tugs your body into his and seals your lips with a hot kiss.

heat sparks through your entire body, the sudden rush eliciting a gasp that satoru swallows. he uses the opportunity to nip lightly at your lower lip, then slip his tongue into your mouth, stroking it over yours. this kiss is the first step towards more — it’s all happening so quickly that your head spins, mind growing foggy as the moment absorbs you.

you taste amazing; you’ve got some kind of sticky gloss on your lips that he’s not familiar with, but it adds extra flavor to the already delicious taste of your tongue. he’s always been into sugar, in any kind of form, especially the kind where he tastes a dessert on a pretty girl’s tongue. it’s chocolate, his expert senses tell him.

“ah—satoru,” you whine, weakly tugging away for breath, eyes hooded as your chin sits on his shoulder. “t-touch me, please.”

“not just yet,” and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, intensifying the warm ache between your thighs. is the curse rubbing off on you? why does it feel like you’ll die if satoru doesn’t fuck you?

your nails dig into his biceps desperately, a whine of frustration tearing from your throat. “i’m—i’m begging you, touch me.” oh, if you keep talking like that, he’ll cum in his pants. it’s been so long since his last time with anyone; you’re just so pretty and perfect and every time you speak his cock twitches uncontrollably in his pants. he’s supposed to be the all-powerful genie, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly?

satoru’s lips trail kisses down your throat, and he eagerly takes in the scent of your perfume. it’s something sweet, a scent he can’t quite place, but it’s delicious. “you’re so soft—smell so damn good. fuck, what is that?”

“it’s my everyday candy perfume, ‘s not that special,” you murmur, wincing when his teeth sink into the tender flesh. the force of the bite tells you that you’re bound to have marks tomorrow.

“eh, it doesn’t taste that good,” he hums against you, fingers trailing along your waist and stomach over your clothing. “maybe that pussy’ll taste as sweet as you smell, hm?”

“hurry up and give it a try,” you utter breathlessly, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling his hand between your thighs.

satoru’s once bright cerulean eyes are dark with something hungry—some kind of deeply rooted passion he hasn’t felt in a while. you feel small under his hooded gaze, his strong body pushing against yours and reminding you of what he is. it’s starting to seem like fucking a genie is about to be the best sex of your life . .

his fingertips slip past the fabric of your shorts and panties, nudging at your cunt. “you’re fucking soaked, babygirl—so needy,” satoru’s voice lilts in amusement as if he’s not dripping precum in his own clothes.

“need your fingers, satoru,” oh, the way you say his name makes him dizzy, his cock jolting in response. his body tenses, muscles going rigid as he forces himself to focus on you and your pleasure, not his stupid boner.

“take this off,” he pants, chest heaving.

you quickly undo the button and zipper of your shorts, tugging them and your panties down your legs in one swift motion. satoru shamelessly sweeps his eyes over your body, committing the sight of your curves and pussy to his long term memory. his stare is electrifying and intense, making every hair on your body stand on end.

“against the table,” he demands, waiting for you to position yourself accordingly before he pounces. shyly, you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy and swollen clit. you’re so sensitive, quivering just from the air against the delicate skin.

satoru sinks to his knees as though he’s about to worship you . .

one kitten lick turns into a few, and then he’s fucking hooked. his large hands find purchase on your plush thighs, fingers digging into your skin to tightly hold you in place while he slurps up everything your pussy has to give him. he’s got his whole face against you, nose pressed into your clit and tongue all over your pussy.

“satoru,” you muster, sweat clinging to your forehead and heat swirling in your cheeks. “eh, toru..” this new shortening of his name has him releasing a choked moan into you, the vibrations causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

your fingers rake through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. you curl your fingers, bunching the snowy strands between them, and without warning, you tug hard. this new grip allows you to drag his face against you, hips rocking against him to pull as much pleasure as you can from this angle. satoru moans loudly, content with being used to get off and sounding thankful you’re yanking his hair. was this what he’d wanted the whole time?

“yeah, just like that,” you whimper, voice cracking as the genie’s nose rubs against your clit; he shakes his head side to side in order to give you more pleasure. “y-you’re gonna make me cum, ‘toru.”

there it is, that shortened version of his name. satoru’s cock jumps against his thigh, and all he can think about is sheathing his cock inside you, cumming nice and deep. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? he’s dizzy at the thought of hearing you beg to be stuffed full.

your fingers squeeze against the wood of the table, and one of your thighs lifts up, settling over his shoulder. your body goes stiff, every muscle tensing as your pussy flutters against his tongue. “ugh, i’m—‘m gonna cum, satoru, fuckkk..”

you drag out that last curse until your voice breaks, orgasm hitting you hard, the force of it leaving you a shaking mess. falling over the edge has never been this amazing; you ride out the final aftershocks of bliss on the tip of his tongue, coming down from the high with a hiss of sensitivity.

“alright, alright. that’s enough, satoru.”

panting and puffing, satoru rises to his feet, the entire lower half of his face sticky with your arousal. it drips from his chin, and although it’s messy, he makes no move to wipe it away.

within a second, the genie’s got you caged in his arms, chest pressed against yours and hips aligned with your own. “shit, i—” he swallows the lump in his throat, so close that his lips brush against your own. his voice drops to a whisper, as he tells you his desire like it’s a secret between just the two of you. “i want you so badly.”

“desperation’s a good look for you,” you hum, pushing forward and connecting his lips with your own. the kiss is chaste, full of mutual understanding. your hands rest on his chest, fingers splayed as you relish the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. honestly, to think that a supernatural being is this weak for you . . hot excitement pools in your lower stomach, pussy squeezing at the idea of it all.

“shut up,” satoru says, his nose scrunching when he pulls back. the pale skin of his cheeks is flushed with a rosy color that grows redder by the minute. “got some nerve teasing me..”

his voice takes on that stern, husky tone again and your hands wander to the bulge between his legs. his tobi pants are tight with the outline of his hard cock, straining against the fabric and dying for some friction. but, he snatches your hand away and shakes his head, back to being demanding.

“nuh uh. bend over, palms on the table.”

satoru doesn’t even wait for the command to register, and flips you around before pushing you down.

“hey—you don’t even want me to take my shirt off?”

oh, right.

he slips his hand under the shirt in question and easily rips it right off you, the fabric tearing loudly. the genie’s now faced with your bra, something he’s not at all familiar with. when he was human, nobody wore bras with puzzling clasps at the back. before you can stop him, he does what he knows is most effective, ripping it right off and helping you out of it. “that’s better,” he groans, hand coming down hard against your asscheek.

“my clothes!” you gasp, pushing off the table to get up. satoru’s stronger and faster, pinning you down under his chest; he’s so heavy you can’t possibly move away from him, keeping you in place.

“you can always wish for new ones,” he snickers, undoing the black ribbon at his waist. he kicks the tobi pants off, then removes his undergarments and finally his shirt.

“oh, fuck off. i’m not wasting my wish on some clothes. the deal was to fuck, not destroy my clothes and whatever else.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” satoru taunts, tugging his lower lip between his teeth as he lines his cock up with your entrance. the fat tip nudges against you, sticky with precum, and the both of you gasp together.

“it-it’s been so long,” satoru stutters, guiding his cock inside you. he’s big, thick, and nothing short of perfect. a pang of sadness strikes you in the back of your mind, and you momentarily wish you’d be able to fuck him more than once.

“well, what’re you waiting for?” you huff, wiggling your ass left and right. “are you nervous, toru?” that mocking tone is enough motivation for him, and he pushes inside you fully, bottoming out with ease.

“we’ll see who’s really nervous, little one,” he grits, bracing himself by planting his hands on the table. his glass bottle lays somewhere on the floor, forgotten. “you thought i destroyed those clothes? no, no, no,” his voice is low, and he leans forward, hot breath fanning over the shell of your ear. “i’ll destroy this fucking pussy.”

a moan bursts past your lips at satoru’s filthy words, fingernails scrabbling against wood to keep steady. “like it when i talk to you like that, don’t you?” ignoring his instruction from earlier, you slide your hands off the table and offer them up behind your back, sending him a heated glance from over your shoulder.

“oh, i’ll give you what you want,” and with that, satoru gathers your wrists in one hand, yanking your arms back while he develops a rhythm. it’s brutal — his hips slam into your ass mercilessly, each movement full of urgency and a primal desire.

his heavy balls slap your puffy clit hard, sending shocks of electricity throughout your entire body. he’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each sloppy thrust. it’s like you can feel him in your lungs, and the unbridled force behind his hips has the table rattling beneath the two of you.

“so, so fucking good,” satoru groans, eyes rolling back into his skull as he pounds your pussy into oblivion. a genie, of all people, is showing you what it really means to be fucked. anything before or after him pales in comparison, and the idea of fully ruining you has something nasty curling feel inside his stomach. “babygirl, you look so good like this . . sound s-so good too, fuckkk.”

“right there!” another harsh slam of his hips propels his tip into that sweet, spongy spot deep inside of you. your cunt contracts around him, and he knows he’s got the angle down. “toru—oh, fuck . . cum inside me, please.”

“‘s only been a few minutes and you’re that desperate for me to fill you up?” satoru grunts, the room filling with the sound of skin clapping against skin. it sounds like an applause, the kind that marks a special occasion, something as big as this one—his curse will be lifted soon and he’ll become a human again after so damn long.

“y-yeah, give it to me,” you sob, tears pouring down your face as you beg. “toru, please!”

there’s a loud crack from beneath you, and satoru whisks you away just in time as the table collapses beneath you, the once intact piece of furniture turning into a heap of wood.

“t-the table!” with a hushing sound, satoru fucks the thought out of your head—every single one, for that matter—and holds you steady by the wrists.

“don’t think about it, jus’ focus on taking it,” satoru’s voice is smooth, quite the contrast to the way he’s fucking you. “baby, ‘m gonna cum.”

you moan at his words, jaw hanging open as he fucks you stupid. it’s hard to form thoughts to then make sentences, but you try nonetheless. “toru—fill me up, fucking fill me up!”

the genie groans, pushing a hand through his white hair and lightly tugging at the strands just as you’d done earlier. the small action maximizes his pleasure, and he chokes out a husky groan. “i will, fuck, i promise,” his voice grows frantic, words squashing together as a familiar euphoria seizes his whole body, making his muscles tense. “i’m gonna cum—ugh, take it all, t-take it all..”

satoru’s cock twitches inside you, deep against your cervix, just before gushing cum and filling you with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. his high triggers your own, and your cunt’s spasming, wrapping tighter around his length and milking every drop of cum from him. “satoru,” you sob, voice raising and splintering into a needy whine.

wordlessly, he wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you back against his chest. his breath comes in ragged pants against your neck, and you swear you feel wetness against your skin.

“uh, are you okay?” you ask, voice hushed, “are you still a genie, satoru?”

“uhhh, i can check,” but he makes no move to pull out or away from you.

“satoru?”

“fine. i don’t wanna let you go, but i will.” with a hiss, he pulls his cock out of you, staring at your cunt intently. as if on cue, his cum spills out of you, dripping in sticky trails along your inner thighs. your lower lip wobbles, and you turn back to take a look at him.

satoru closes his eyes and puts his hands together, willing himself to get inside the bottle. there’s no puff of smoke, no theatrics, and he bends over to pick up the bottle. it’s lost its blue hue and special luster, reverting into a dull glass bottle that you’d see in a clearance section at a homegoods.

as if possessed, satoru jumps up and down, cheering loudly. his cock and balls slap against his pelvis, and he grabs you, tugging you into a strong hug. “yaaaayyy! thank you for helping me, pretty girl.”

“you broke my table and tore my clothes,” you grumble, glaring at him so hard he pushes your head down into his shoulder.

“maybe i can make it up to you? i am a full human now, after all,” satoru says cheekily, smiling against your skin.

“wait a minute,” you shove him back, fixing him with another glare. “what about that wish, satoru? you promised me a wish, you’d better still be able to grant it.”

he swallows nervously, looking away. “i don’t think humans can grant wishes..”

you hit his shoulder, shaking your head angrily. “you’re a liar.”

“okay, listen. let’s just give it a try. plenty of genies have turned back into people and have still granted a wish, i think,” satoru closes his eyes and gets into some kind of combat stance. “pick up the bottle and rub it.”

the glass is cool in your hands, and you rub your fingers along the textured glass. satoru’s closed eyes glow briefly, and he nods surely. “yep, that did it. okay, make your wish now. i can’t grant anything involving death, making me or you a genie, more wishes, you know the drill. go for it, babygirl.”

“i wish . . ”

[theemporium]

[4.1k] as promised, jack throws luke a belated birthday party before the season kicks off. except, luke gets more surprises than he bargained for. (smut)

series masterlist

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“I don’t get why we have to do this.”

“I’m just following instructions.”

“I already know Jack is throwing a party, there is no surprise.”

“I know. You have said it thirteen times since we left the apartment.”

Luke shot the older defenceman a look, his face blank and unimpressed. It had been bad enough that Jack had barged into his room at an ungodly hour on their off day, rambling away so fast that it took Luke a few minutes to even realise what he was saying. He had clothes thrown at his face and told he had fifteen minutes to get out of the house before he was dragged out. 

He was only mildly surprised to find John waiting outside their apartment complex, two coffees held in his hands and looking just as thrilled as Luke to be awake so early. And just like Luke, he had been given close to no instructions on what to do, other than keep Luke out of their apartment until everything was ready. 

Whenever that would be.

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just hang out at yours.” Luke said, leaning back against the hood of the car as he shovelled the ice cream around the small tub he was holding. “Or why he demanded I spend the day acting like a seven year old.” 

“To say goodbye to your youth before you turn twenty,” John replied.

Luke frowned. “I’m already twenty.”

“Semantics,” John shrugged.

Luke stared at his teammate for a few moments, letting the silence envelope them. He got along well with John, probably better than some of the older teammates. He didn’t want to say it to anyone else—like Jack or Quinn or his parents—but it was a little intimidating. He wasn’t the youngest guy in the team, and he knew he had others his age. But sometimes, the older defenceman were just…a little intense. 

He knew they meant well. He knew they only wanted to help and guide. But it was hard to believe the words they were saying when it was still pre-season, when Luke still felt like he had to prove himself on the ice, even after playoffs.

But John was a nice middle. He wasn’t old but he was experienced. He understood it a little better than some of the others. Luke might have even gone as far to say that John had been the closest thing to an actual friend that he felt on the team, like somebody he thinks would genuinely hang out with him outside of team hangouts and post-game pub crawls.

Luke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion at the older boy. “Do you know what Jack is planning?”

He could see the beginnings of a smirk tugging on John’s lips.

Luke pointed his little spoon in accusation. “You do!” 

“Eat your ice cream, Luke.” 

“Surely I get birthday boy privileges or something.”

John’s face broke out into a full blown grin. “Thought you were already twenty? Not technically the birthday boy then, are you?” 

Luke only rolled his eyes as the boy beside him cackled, but there was the makings of a smile on his face too. 

…

He had made the mistake of underestimating a Jack Hughes’ party.

Luke knew what his brother was like. He knew how his mind worked and how he thought and how he acted. He knew just what certain words and phrases really meant. He knew the kinds of tricks Jack tended to have up his sleeve. 

He had ranted to John about as much all day. He had warned you about the same.

He was fully equipped to be prepared with whatever was on the other side of the door.

And yet, Luke still found himself standing frozen in shock when he opened the apartment door to so many fucking people screaming happy birthday at him. More people than he ever considered possibly fitting into their apartment. 

Every surface had more bottles of alcohol on them than he could count, there were balloons and other decorations taped to the wall, and he was pretty sure he saw a fucking keg hidden amongst the crowd.

It was the most Jack Hughes kind of thing to throw him a party that resembled a frat party, more than a fucking birthday party. He shouldn’t have been surprised and he still was because, honestly, he didn’t think it would be much bigger than the team and their partners and some extra friends. 

Luke didn’t think he knew half the people in his house right now. Maybe more than half. 

And still, staring at the large group of people, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the crowd as if he would be able to spot you in seconds. 

But he couldn’t.

Instead, Jack was dragging him into the apartment with a shove and a big smile. He had a drink pushed into his hands seconds later, more people wishing him a happy birthday and the overwhelming realisation that his social butterfly brother was going to drag him around to meet every single stranger currently in his house. 

And as much as he wanted to claim it was horrible—and it kind of was, socially—Jack undoubtedly knew how to throw a great party. 

He was in the middle of listening to some retelling of a goal from a game that Luke didn’t even care about when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He glanced around him, everyone far too focused on the storytelling before he slipped his phone out. He wished he was embarrassed with the way his smile grew when he saw it was from you. 

cherry🍒: which room is yours? 

cherry🍒: please answer quick before i break into your brother’s room

Luke pressed his lips together, trying to resist the urge to smile or laugh.

hockey boy: is there a reason you’re trying to sneak into my room? 

It didn’t even take a few seconds after he pressed send for you to respond. 

cherry🍒: stop being a smart ass and tell me which one

cherry🍒: otherwise i guess jack gets your present 

And it was stupid, really. He didn’t know what you got him. It could be a card for all he knew, and he would be grateful for it regardless. But still, something about the implication of your words made his cheeks flush in response. 

And something quite possessive bubbled in his chest at the idea of anyone else being in his position. 

It was his gift, after all. He had every right to feel possessive over it. Or, at least, that was what he told himself as he quickly responded. 

hockey boy: second door on the left

He watched the bubbles appear on his screen, let the seconds pass painfully until your message came through.

cherry🍒: come and get your present, birthday boy ;)

He stared at the text for a lot longer than he cared to admit before he was snapped out of his thoughts, feeling someone’s pointy elbow digging into his side. His head snapped up, finding Jesper staring at him with a slightly concerned look.

“You good? Your face has gone red.”

He could almost feel his cheeks burn hotter in response. 

“Uh, yeah,” Luke cleared his throat and gave the older boy a slightly strained smile. “I must’ve drank a little more than I expected. I’m just gonna go splash my face and I’ll be back.”

Jesper’s brows furrowed together. “You sure? I can go get Jack—”

“No, no,” Luke quickly reassured him, giving his shoulder a small pat and squeeze before he took a step away from the crowd. “Promise I’m all good. Just need to freshen up.”

Jesper didn’t look convinced but Luke didn’t give him much time to say anything else before he rushed off. 

He kept his head down, trying to avoid eye contact and getting dragged into conversations as best as he could. He gave polite smiles when he could, pushing through the crowd of people without a second thought before he made it to the corridor that led off to the bedrooms.

It was quieter, which was expected with most of the guests in the main communal areas but Luke didn’t give much thought to them or anything else as he made a beeline for his room. 

His heart was thundering in his chest as he reached for the door, quickly sliding inside and shutting the door with a heavy sigh before he finally turned around. He leaned back against the door, taking in the sight of you casually sitting on his bed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe because, for some reason that was beyond his own understanding, it was. 

You sitting on his bed, leaning back against your hands as you grinned at him. Your white dress was a stark contrast against his navy blue sheets, resting around mid-thigh and it drove him crazy. Almost as crazy as the cherry red lipstick did. 

“Happy birthday, Hughes.”

His nose scrunched. “You can’t call me that when my brother is under the same roof.”

You snorted. “Aw, you know you’re my favourite.” 

Luke didn’t bite back his smile this time. “Is that my birthday present?” 

You grinned back, patting the spot on the bed next to you. “Why don’t you come find out?” 

He barely had a chance to sit on the bed before your hands were on him, fingers lightly tugging on his curls as you pressed a smacking kiss onto his cheek with a cheesy grin. 

“Happy birthday, Luke.” 

He huffed out a laugh, turning to look at you with an elated expression. “Thanks, Cherry,” he murmured, almost shyly as your fingers remained in his hair, playing with his curls like it was instinctive. “How are you enjoying the party?”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Your brother sure would’ve made a great frat boy.”

“It’s his true calling,” Luke joked.

“And you’re a popular boy,” you commented.

His cheeks flushed. “Oh no…I…I don’t know half of them, to be honest. Maybe even more than that.” 

Something glinted in your eyes and you smiled at him. “So I’m one of the lucky few people who actually know the birthday boy?” 

He swallowed. “One of the few, yeah.” 

“I’m honoured,” you hummed, tilting your head to the side. “I’m guessing you won’t be missed if I keep you up here for a bit, then?”

He blinked, staring at you for a few seconds before he remembered he had to respond. “Uh, yeah, no. We can…we can stay here for a bit. Or a while. Or however long you want.” 

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Good. Get comfortable.”

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?” 

“Get comfortable, Luke,” you repeated, something quite like pride blooming in your chest as you watched his face blush in response. “Need to give you your birthday present.” 

“Oh,” he murmured before he realised. “Oh! Right, I—” 

Luke glanced at you for a second, seeing if you were going to give him any hint on what was happening but you just smiled at him. He cleared his throat, almost embarrassed by the way his dick twitched in response before he shuffled back onto the bed until his back was pressed against the headboard. 

“Is this okay?”

“Perfect, baby, always so perfect for me,” you murmured, not wasting any time as you began to crawl towards him. 

He gulped a little, watching you like he was completely entranced. He expected you to swing your leg over his lap, to feel your thighs on either side of him as you settled yourself on him. He waited for you to be close enough before he could reach out, before he could pull you closer. He itched to have his hands on you.

But you crawled until you were kneeling beside him, your knees brushing against his thigh and hand on his stomach—but it still didn’t feel close enough for his liking. 

Yet, when he opened his mouth to speak, you were already leaning forward to kiss him.

The way he moaned in relief the second he felt your lips on his was almost pathetic, but Luke couldn’t bring himself to care. You shifted in your spot before your free hand cupped his cheek, guiding his head so you could deepen the kiss with a swipe of your tongue against his lips. 

He parted his lips with no hesitation. 

“Hm, good boy,” you hummed, your breath tickling against his lips and it made his cock strain in his jeans. 

“Always for you,” he responded, almost like it was instinctive. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up, for his body to flush in realisation.

But he could feel your smile widen against his lips and it made it worth it.

You pulled back, panting softly as your hooded eyes took him in. Your gaze glanced over every inch of his face before they lingered on his lips. Your eyes darkened and your lips twitched as your hand moved to cup his jaw, to let your thumb slowly swipe over his lips.

“Cherry red looks good on you, baby,” you commented, and it was only then he noticed how smudged your own lipstick looked. 

“Might give you a run for your money,” he retorted, his voice a little lower and rougher than it was moments ago.

“Hm, I bet you could.” 

He gulped a little, the blood roaring in his ears as he felt the anticipation of your next move crackle under his skin like lightning waiting to strike. He watched you closely like he was scared to miss something, like this would all end if he looked away.

“Relax, Luke,” you said in a softer voice, the hand on his stomach lightly fisting the material of his shirt. “You trust me, right?” 

He nodded.

“And you’ll tell me if you wanna stop?”

He nodded again.

“Good,” you murmured before you were leaning in again. “Then sit back and enjoy your present, birthday boy.”

And every other coherent thought Luke had in his brain went completely out the window as you leaned in to kiss him again. 

There was the distant thumping bass sounding from the main room that made him feel like he was back to the party just over a month ago. When he was in the small bathroom with you, feeling just as hot and flushed as he did now but for very different reasons. And if he didn’t have your tongue in his mouth, he was sure he would have appreciated how poetic it all felt.

But he really, really couldn’t bring his brain to do anything except focus on you, you, you.

A needy noise sounded from the back of his throat as your hand on his stomach travelled downwards, as the heel of your palm pushed against the bulge in his jeans. 

“So responsive,” you murmured between kisses as you continued to palm him over his jeans. 

He felt breathless, his brain feeling fuzzy and his body feeling overwhelmed as he desperately tried to keep up with you, to kiss you back, to not buck his hips like he desperately wanted to do.

“This okay?” 

He sighed, nodding his head.

You hand paused, and he almost whined in response, before your fingers paused at the button of his jeans. “Still okay?”

He nodded again.

“Words, baby. I know you can use them for me.”

“Yeah, still okay,” he managed to get out between gritted teeth, almost sounding wounded as he felt your fingers circle his button before slowly popping it undone. He let out a staggered, heavy breath as your hand slid into his jeans, until the warmth of your palm squeezed his cock over his boxers. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shhh, can’t be too loud, baby,” you murmured, watching the way his head slumped back against the headboard with a thump. “Not when they can hear you.”

“There’s music,” he defended weakly, his eyes fluttering shut as you slowly began to stroke his clothed cock. 

“Your pretty noises are louder,” you teased, unable to help yourself as you leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck. “Help me get these off, yeah?” 

Luke could only find it within himself to nod and lift his hips to help shuffle the fabric of his jeans and boxers to pool just above his knees. “Please.”

“No need to beg this time,” you assured the boy, pressing another kiss just under his jaw. “Gonna give the birthday boy what he wants.” 

He blinked his eyes open, expecting to find you staring back at him. Instead, your focus was on his exposed dick, resting against his stomach. He swallowed a little, suddenly self-conscious and painfully aware that despite the amount of times you had made him come, this was the first time he had ever…well…it was the first time you had ever seen his dick.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing except a noise mixed between a moan and a whimper as your thumb traced over the slit on his head.

“Pretty boy, pretty cock,” you commented casually, like your thumb wasn’t spreading the small beads of precome over the head of his cock.

“Cherry,” he breathed out, fighting the urge to clench his eyes shut. “Fuck. Please.”

“I like when you say my name like that,” you confessed, turning to look at his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes that were already staring back at you. You never once looked away from him as you raised your thumb to your mouth, wrapping your lips around it.

He gritted his teeth together. “Shit.” 

The eye contact remained as you licked the palm of your hand before reaching down to stroke his cock again, no layers of fabric acting as a barrier anymore. Just your warm, wet palm slowly pumping the length of his hard cock, in his fucking bedroom when a whole party of guests celebrating him were just god-knows how many feet away.

“Fuck, yes,” he moaned out, slumping back against the headboard again as you continued to stroke his cock. His eyes fluttered shut as a small voice in the back of his head muttered about how much better it felt when it wasn’t his own hand. 

“That’s it, baby, just sit back and enjoy,” you whispered, closing the distance between your lips and his neck once again. Your breath tickled along the column of his neck, sending small shivers through his body as he tried not to twitch his hips.

“Feels good,” he managed to blurt out.

He could feel your smile against his skin. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded hopelessly, his hands fisting the duvet on either side of him. “So good.”

“Hm,” you hummed in amusement, your teeth lightly nipping a spot just before his ear. “You gonna last long, baby?” 

He shook his head, whimpering.

“Gonna be a good boy and come for me?” 

He nodded without a second of hesitation. 

And then he felt your lips against his ear, your breath warm and your voice sultry as you whispered, “then come for me, Luke.”

And he fucking shattered. 

White, hot pleasure exploded through him. He could feel it in every nerve in his body, from the tip of his fingers to the end of his toes. He could feel the rush down his spine, the spots dotting his vision as he tried to ground his bearings. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm as he came, as ropes of his come exploded over your hand and his thighs and stomach.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, chest heaving with soft pants as he took a few moments before he turned his head to look at you.

“Like your birthday present?” You asked with an innocent smile.

Luke snorted, not replying as he leaned forward to press his lips against yours. It felt like the natural response and you didn’t seem to push him away. 

When he pulled back, he reached for a box of tissues and handed you a few to clean yourself up whilst he did the same. It was only thirty seconds of silence before he opened his mouth to say something, his brain still fuzzy and the oddest urge to say ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue when he heard familiar voices on the other side of his door.

“Nah, I swear Jack said his room was to the right.”

“He said left, dipshit.”

“No, he definitely said right.”

Luke’s eyes widened as he turned to look at you, a sudden burst of adrenaline and panic ridding him of whatever post-orgasm brain fog he was experiencing seconds ago. “Get under the bed.”

You blinked. “What—”

“Get under the bed now,” Luke hissed as he quickly scrambled to pull his boxers and jeans up.

You listened to him, despite his confusion, as you quickly slid off his bed and crawled underneath the frame. You disappeared just as the door to his room burst open and Luke was met with three very familiar faces grinning at him. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUKEY!” 

Despite hearing their voices, the shock of seeing three of his closest friends didn’t hit him until they were standing right in front of him. His heart was still thundering in his chest and his brain still felt a little delayed, but the smile on his face was genuine as he took in the sight of Mark, Ethan and Rutger.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Luke retorted, shuffling off his bed. He contemplated hugging them before remembering what had just occurred seconds ago and thought better of it. 

“You really think we were gonna miss your birthday?” Ethan asked with a scoff.

“I mean, it was a few weeks ago…”

Rutger lightly punched his arm. “Don’t be a dick, we just flew from Michigan to be here.”

Luke raised his brows in surprise. “You did?”

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, bud,” Mark replied, a softer smile on his face. “You may have hit the big leagues but you can’t get rid of us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, an odd pang of homesickness in his heart craving to be a college student in Michigan once again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I think the better question is why the fuck you are hiding at your own party,” Ethan spoke up, slapping his arm around Luke’s shoulders before he began guiding him to the door. “Your brother splurged on a shit ton of booze downstairs, we should be taking advantage of that.”

“And kicking their asses in beer pong,” Mark added with a grin.

“Let’s fucking go!” Rutger whooped, already the first one out the door with the expectation of the others to follow.

“Gonna embarrass them all,” Ethan grinned, turning his head to look at Luke before he frowned a little. “Hey, what’s that on your neck?”

Luke’s eyes widened as his hand instantly came up to his neck, as though he would be able to feel the lipstick staining his skin. “Uh…it’s…a rash.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed together. “Damn, really? It kinda looks—”

“Are you two coming or what?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “We’re coming!”

“Hurry up or Mark’s my partner in beer pong!” 

Ethan scoffed, his mouth parting in offence. “Absolutely not—” 

Luke didn’t get much of a chance to say anything else before Ethan and the others all but dragged him back into the party. The guilt of leaving you in his room swirled inside him, but he waited until the boys were distracted before he managed to slip his phone out of his pocket. 

hockey boy: i am so sorry about that

hockey boy: i didn’t mean to leave you like that

hockey boy: i feel like a dickhead 

His lip was tucked between his teeth as the typing bubbles appeared. 

cherry🍒:  don’t worry about it, luke

cherry🍒: have fun with your friends 

cherry🍒: hope you liked your birthday present ;)

His cheeks burned but he grinned down at his phone.

hockey boy: don’t think anything can top it

He paused for a few moments, glancing up to find his friends still lost in some debate on who was gaining Mark as their beer pong partner before his focus shifted back to his phone. With some lingering confidence and the shots Ethan made him do as soon as they left his room in his system, he found himself typing and hitting send before he could over think it all.

hockey boy: next time i get to make you come

hockey boy: it’s only fair 

Luke watched as your response came in soon after. 

cherry🍒: maybe you can show me how good you really are with those hands of yours 

.

[peppermintquartz]

Chimney sits down to enjoy his bottle of ice water next to Tommy, who is the definition of besotted, the way he gazes at Buck.

At the moment, Buck's curls are frizzled from sweat as he and Maddie sort out the best way to arrange the photos on the blank wall now designated the family gallery. Maddie shifts one square of paper an inch to the left, Buck shifts about five to balance out the space, and they're bickering in that patented Buckley Siblings way that would be a danger to anyone trying to calm them down. Even so, Tommy is smiling softly, as if in disbelief that he gets to have this in a home he and Buck share.

Can't blame him, honestly, because Chimney knows that is how he himself looks at Maddie. Like she's sunshine and rainbows and all things good and beautiful, even when she's a crying mess. Even after a rough day when Jee was sick and throwing tantrums out of discomfort and frustration and bullying Maddie with piercing screams and neverending tears and throwing up. Even when she and Chimney fought about the best way to confront the kindergarten teacher who kept mispronouncing Jee's name and ignored a kid who pulled on their daughter's hair one too many times.

With a grin, Chimney elbows his friend who will soon be his brother-in-law. "Look at us, two lucky sons of bitches."

Tommy chuckles and downs a mouthful of his water. "Luckiest bastards in LA."

They toast each other. Maddie and Buck pause in their agitated discussion and turn around.

"Why are you seated?" Buck demands. "We're working on a schedule here, people. Chop chop, bring in the boxes tagged yellow and unpack for the bedroom."

"Buck, they have been moving boxes all morning. They do need a water break."

"Ugh, fine. I'll do it." Buck strides out the door, muttering something about on task and delays and efficiency. Then he pokes his head in and points at Maddie. "Don't move that second photo. Not. An. Inch."

"It's off balance!"

"Asymmetry, Maddie! I'm going for asymmetry!"

Standing up with only the slightest of groans, Chimney says, "Yep, I got the better Buckley."

"Your Buckley can't throw you over her shoulder to cart you to bed and have her way with you," Tommy ripostes.

Chimney snorts. "All she gotta do is curl a finger, bro. Now that's efficient."

[themultifanshipper]

if you're still accepting requests can ask for 🟠 with oscar please and thank you 😽

Oscar was not happy. He'd finished p1, and yet you could hear him in his driver's room, cursing and throwing things around like an animal.

Oh yeah, Oscar was fucking pissed.

Warnings: filth, dirty talk, based on hungary 2024, is it exhibitionism if the goal is to make people hear you?, squirting, Oscar's a bit of a freak in this ngl, bordering on dubious consent, very minimal prep, overstimulation?

Requested from my prompt list

Technically his race had gone perfectly, he drove great, managed his tyres, took the lead and he'd had his first Grand Prix victory in formula one. He should be happy.

But just like his first sprint victory, it had been completely overshadowed, and this time it was by the absolute mess that was the Mclaren strategy calls.

By the fuckass team that made the call to pit his twat of a teammate first.

It was supposed to be smooth sailing, instead his teammate had to fucking let him pass for him to win.

That's not racing, that's fucking… it's…

Whatever it is it's fucked. It's fucked and it's wrong and it made Oscar's win feel undeserved. And the final insult came in the form of Lando himself.

Sweet summer child, Mclaren's princess, doe eyed baby boy Lando.

He was only a prick about 1% of the time, but today he was really making up for the the other 99% with gusto.

While Oscar was smashing up his driver's room, Lando was in his own, next door, adding insult to injury by playing his music just loud enough for Oscar to hear, but he'd selected a playlist that he knew Oscar hated.

Because Lando was also bitter. So it was really just petty bickering, but with noise instead of words. Everytime Oscar threw something against the wall, or screamed in anger, Lando would turn it up a notch.

You, the team photographer, and Oscar's fuckbuddy turned unofficial girlfriend, decided to intervene before either of them decided to start costing the team serious money in property damage, or actually start brawling. It had happened only once in the two years they'd been teammates, but it was not pretty, and definitely something you'd like to avoid.

So you knocked on Oscar's door.

“No!” he yelled from inside.

“It's just me, Osc! I'm coming in!” you answered, opening the door carefully before stepping in.

The sight before you was hot pitiful.

Stuff was everywhere. Several things including his phone and a bottle of water, were smashed next to the wall separating the two drivers.

His helmet was on the other side of the room, his massage table was upside-down and the sofa cushions had been thoroughly roughed-up and strewn around the room.

And in the middle of all this was Oscar, still in his race suit, red faced and panting hard, sweat soaked hair plastered on his forehead.

The way he looked at you almost made your knees buckle. You'd barely ever seen him so angry.

He'd managed to keep his carefully composed image together after the race and during the interviews, but now, now he was letting it all out.

As you walked in his features softened ever so slightly and he rushed towards you, enveloping you in a tight hug. So tight you could barely breathe.

Neither of you said anything, bodies entertwined, just gently rocking to whatever shit-stirring music the prick next door had selected.

God, he wanted to punch him so bad.

He would have to find another way to let out his pent up aggression.

He made noise low in his throat before his hands started trailing downwards. Down to cup your ass and squeeze, hard.

You squeaked and jumped in his hold but he held firm, keeping you pressed against him.

He was breathing hard against your neck and you almost felt like he was about to eat you alive.

“Oscar?” you tried, no response.

He roughly turned you around and pushed you down onto the only thing he'd left intact, the desk.

The conveniently empty desk, which was against the same wall that the music was coming from.

The force with which he pushed you made you stumble, and you just about caught yourself before you almost got a concussion.

“Oscar, what-” you started to say, but the sound of him quickly unzipping his suit and his hand coming to push you down cut you off.

“Baby I love you, but right now I just need you to bend over and take it.”

You whole body shuddered at his tone, and he chuckled darkly.

“I knew you would like this, my little slut is up for anything.”

He very rarely talked to you like that, or got into this kind of mood, but when he did you turned into mush.

You enjoyed careful, loving, passionate Oscar as much as the next person. But this Oscar… this one was a real treat.

The hand between your shoulder blades pinned you down while the other one pushed your cute little skirt up and pushed your underwear to the side.

Two fingers breached you and you moaned loud, hopefully covered by Lando's music.

“God you're so wet. I think i'll just slide in.” Oscar pumped his fingers a few times before going to push his fireproofs down around his thighs, freeing his cock that had been at least half hard ever since he'd crossed the finish line.

“I'm going to need you to be louder than that if we want Lando to hear how good I'm treating my girlfriend” he muttered darkly into your ear.

You gasped and didn't even have time to protest before you heard him spit in his hand and cover his cock, carefully putting it against you and pushing in, just over half way.

It's a good thing you were lying down on the desk, because your legs went completely numb as the feeling of his thick cock stretched you open.

“Fuck, that's good. You're my good girl aren't you? Gonna take all of my cock like I know you can?”

You couldn't answer, but he adjusted his position and thrusted in all the way in, and the noise you let out definitely wasn't covered by Lando's music.

You'd be surprised if the whole building hadn't heard you, and you would be worried about it if it weren't for the amazing dick you were currently getting.

You literally couldn't shut your mouth. Your jaw was wide open and Oscar didn't hesitate to stick two of his fingers in there to ensure you couldn't hide your moans.

The loudest moans you'd ever produced came spilling out at every thrust, and Oscar couldn't help but feel proud of the pleasure he was managing to give you while being so selfish.

Because he wasn't doing this for you, he was doing this for himself, for his pride, to let out his frustration and anger, and mostly to piss off Lando.

You were unable to move, the pressure on your back was pushing you roughly against the desk, you could barely breathe, every thrust sent your hipbones knocking into the edge of the desk, your cervix was taking a beating, and your nails were splitting because of how hard you were scratching the surface under you.

It was fucking perfect.

As the desk rocked, the edge of it hit the wall repeatedly and you were sure Oscar had placed it there on purpose. Just to make a point to Lando, that Oscar had someone there for him. Someone he could count on who loved him. Someone he could use.

And use you he did. You were floating, brain like tv static as Oscar gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and pounded into you harder than he ever had before.

You felt so high on pleasure that your orgasm came and went almost unnoticed by you, but Oscar definitely noticed.

He quickly pulled out, ripped your now ruined underwear off, and turned you over on the desk.

“Fuck, look at you. Completely drunk on my cock.”

He slid back inside and started thrusting straight into your g-spot with renewed vigour.

“Fuck baby you're so good for me. My good girl, all for me.”

If you hadn't been completely out of it, you'd have noticed how Oscar was speaking unnaturally loudly, and throwing angry glances at the wall every now and then. Again, this wasn't for your benefit.

“You can give me another one can't you? Come on baby, come all over the cock that's making you feel so good”

He was nailing your sweet spot dead on every time and a hand had joined the party to thumb lazily at your clit, lighting your whole body on fire.

This one you definitely felt coming, it was building deep inside you, making your toes curl and your breaths come out in high pitched whines, and you registered a new wetness between your thighs.

“ Perfect girl, Perfect fucking cunt.”

Oscar was over the moon, he was making you squirt all over him, the desk and the carpet.

“Yes baby, fuck- good girl. Fucking soak me baby that's it.”

He only lasted a couple of thrust before the image of you limp in his arms, eyes rolled back and thighs clamping around him trying to stop his assault on your overstimulated pussy, overwhelmed him and he came with a shout.

His hips stilled as he felt like his soul had been sucked out via his dick.

It took you a few minutes to regain control of your limbs. Oscar had fucked all the energy straight out of you.

You noticed the music next door had stopped completely. And then the realisation of what just happened set in.

Oscar had just fucked your brains out, and everyone, including Lando had probably heard you.

It got Lando and Oscar to stop fighting, and to you surprise you never got repremanded for inappropriate workplace behaviour.

But to no one's surprise, Lando never put his music on higher than 50% volume ever again

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 4

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, KITTENS!, Accidental Forest Burning?, Kinda a panic attack or the fae equivalent, Mention of Wing Clipping (kinda) and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Eira was having a bad day. 

She was having a really, really bad day. 

After the war…they had been more often. 

After the war…there hadn’t been a week without her having one of those bad days. 

A day, where everything felt like it was too much. Where everything seemingly scratched at her skin, everything was too much, too loud. 

Today was another one of those days.

It was one of those days where everything was too much, too loud, too much, too bright. Where the walls suddenly seemed to grow too close, the ceiling too low, the world too large, too noisy, too….everything.

It was one of those days and Eira didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She was curled up in her room, the windows covered and the curtains drawn closed, plunging the room into deep shadows.

She couldn’t stand it when the world was too much, too loud.

And yet she could still hear it all. Still hear every little sound, every little noise.

The voices of the others, the birds or the animals outside, the people on the streets, everything.

It was too much and she didn’t like it.

She was curled up on the bed, her hands pressed against her ears as she tried to block out as much of the noise as possible.

It was too much, everything was too much, too loud, too bright..

She just wanted the noise to stop.

But she couldn't. And as much as she wanted to throw herself a pity party...it wouldn't result in anything. 

She wanted to cry and complain and have something in the form of a tantrum, like a child.

But that wouldn’t get her anywhere, would it?

She was an adult, she couldn’t just sit and sob about everything being too much. About her bad day.

It wouldn't give her anything...wouldn't result in anything. And so she forced herself to get up...she forced herself to have breakfast...to smile at Nyx when he upended his porridge bowl all over Rhys.

It was hard, getting up when all she wanted to do was to stay under the covers.

She was exhausted, her bad day and the lack of sleep leaving her feeling like walking dead.

At least she was left alone.

Rhys was in a meeting with the governors, Feyre had taken Nyx with her to some painting classes…

She knew she shouldn’t have been feeling as relieved as she did when she realised that every one was gone, leaving her alone in the River House.

But there was a part of her that was immensely relieved, almost desperate.

It was only her, with her bad day and the silence of the house, for once without the constant bustle of the others. 

She ended up tending to her gardening patch that day...ignoring the hovering shadows that tried to get her to stop.

But she didn’t listen. The hard work of tending the garden and the feeling of the dirt against her skin was enough to distract her, if only for a little.

It was better than sitting in her room, alone and curled up and trying to muffle every single sound.

She could still remember the smell and the sounds of the war.

Of blood and mud and smoke, of the sound of steel on steel.

Of the screams of soldiers, of the soldiers calling out for their friends, for their family.

Of the sounds of swords being pulled from flesh and mud, and of bodies crumpling to the ground.

She could still remember those days.

And sometimes it was all she could think of.

The war. The bad days. The pain.

Eira finished her planting, having harvested enough carrots for the day, and then walked back through the door, dusting some dirt off her hands.

She paused when she saw Amren standing just inside, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

She froze, suddenly feeling the urge to turn back and out of the door again.

There was something about the other female’s stare, the almost calculating look in her eyes, that always made her feel like prey. 

And Eira didn’t like it. 

She could see the other woman’s gaze dart over her, noting all the messy and unkempt aspects of her current appearance, and suppressed the urge to shrink and cower.

“Amren,” she greeted politely, as she tried to push down the rising feeling of dread.

The other female simply tilted her head, eyeing her almost lazily.

You look...” Amren drawled quietly, before trailing off.

Eira’s skin was crawling with the feeling of being judged, to be judged and found....found lacking.

“You look like you’ve been digging through mud,” Amren continued, her voice still quiet.

Eira swallowed a little, feeling herself start to hunch in on herself.

She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands, the feeling of Amren’s intense gaze almost making her fingers start to twitch.

"I have been gardening," Eira said quietly. Her own vegetable plot...and she needed to think of how to prepare the garden for autumn, given that Elain was not going to do anything like that.

"You would have been better off honing that lightning power of yours, Girl," Amren drawled. Eira couldn't help but flinch.

She tried to ignore...what was slumbering under her skin. She tried to...she tried not to think of what...what she was capable of. What she had proven herself to be capable of. 

“Your power is wasted on gardening,” Amren went on, her eyes still fixed on her. She was still studying her in that intense, almost predatory way. “You should be training, honing your abilities….not digging in the mud like some ordinary farmer.”

Eira felt herself bristle slightly, a spark of anger cutting through the almost debilitating terror of the intense stare.

The other female made it sound so….insulting. Like working in the garden was an insult to her power, something she was too good to do.

"I like gardening," Eira answered quietly.

“You like gardening,” Amren repeated, raising an eyebrow. She pushed off the wall, taking a couple of steps towards her.

“You like it, or is it an excuse to avoid using your power?” she inquired, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Ignoring your power isn't going to make it disappear," Amren said quietly. "You are cauldron made, girl. You already showed how deadly you can be." 

Eira flinched again, unable to stop herself. Amren’s words hit her like a blow.

It was something she'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about.

She was cauldron-made, cursed by the powers she'd been given, by the very strength that was in her blood.

“You have an entire arsenal at the tip of your fingertips. You’re powerful. You’re stronger than most of them. You have the power of the damn lightning running in your veins. You have a natural gift for destruction. And yet you choose to ignore it all , to dig in the dirt like some common peasant instead of actually learning how to use it?”

She flinched again. 

"What's wrong, girl?" Amren asked, her voice still low and quiet. "Have I struck a nerve?"

She stalked closer, circling around her like a predator.

"You have power at your fingertips, enough to level a city and yet you choose to waste it on…gardening. Or on sewing or on baking or on whatever other useless little hobbies you find time for.”

The words cut deep, cut deeper than any blade ever could. Amren's voice was cold, almost mocking, but there was a touch of something else in it. Something almost like…irritation.

It was like she was disappointed, that she wanted Eira to...to be more. To be…a weapon.

"I don't want to be a weapon," Eira whispered. She didn’t want to fight. 

She wanted peace. That was all she wanted. 

Amren stopped, so close that Eira could taste the almost metallic smell of her power, like a sharp tang on the back of her tongue.

The other female was silent for a moment, studying her in that intense, almost calculating way of hers.

A beat passed before she spoke again, a low murmur.

“What you want...is irrelevant. You are a weapon. You are a living weapon...and that is never going to change. What about your sister? She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage. This is your thanks to your High Lady?" Amren hissed at her.

Eira flinched at the sharp tone, her eyes wide as she stared at Amren.

The other female was looking at her with a cold expression, her gaze sharp.

And yet…there was something else in her eyes, a cold kind of fury. Rage.

Amren’s voice dropped to a low murmur again, a dangerous undertone to it. “What about Feyre?“

Her words were like a lash, flaying the skin of her soul.

Of course. Of course, this was about Feyre.

Amren was furious with her. She was furious with how Eira tried to push her power away, how she tried to bury it and hide and avoid using it.

Amren’s eyes flashed with irritation. “She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage, all so you can waste your power on something as trivial as gardening ?”

The faelights flickered, flickered and started to dim.

Eira could suddenly feel a spark of anger at the back of her throat, a sharp feeling of irritation, as if something was scratching at the inside of her skin.

Too much. Too much.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

It all crowded her mind, everything so sharp and intense it almost cut her from the inside.

A rumble somewhere…outside. 

There was a part of her that wanted to scream, to yell and kick something and make the sharp feelings stop.

Another part that wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.

She wasn't sure what she did...she wasn't sure what she was...what...

Eira wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, or what she was even supposed to be.

She didn’t want to be a living weapon, a cursed creature with power she didn’t want.

She didn’t want to be that. She couldn’t be that. 

She exploded.

It was like the world started to spin, a dizzying rush like a tempest, like a storm rushing through her body.

Her skin felt tight, almost stretched too thin. She felt like she was on fire, sparks crawling through her skin like little thorns digging into her soul.

It was anger. It was fury. It was a roaring sound in her ears like rain, like a thunderstorm.

She exploded. Or at least it felt that way to Eira. The only thing she knew was that she wanted to be far, far away.

Everything was blurry, like a red veil had been dropped over her eyes.

The only thing she knew was that she needed to get away.

She needed to escape, to be somewhere else, far, far away.

She needed…

She hit the floor. 

The first thing she knew was the feel of loose dirt beneath her fingertips as her fingers clawed into the ground beneath her. 

Not the polished marble of the River House hallway, but cool dirt and grass.

Outside. She was outside. 

She was suddenly aware of that fact.

Aware of how her knees and palms were pressed into dirt. That her heart was beating like a battle drum in her chest.

There was a feeling of lightning crawling over her skin, and as she looked down on her hands she saw it. Saw the lightning arcing over her skin, her whole body trembling. 

No. No, no, no, no….

She closed her eyes, as a ragged breath left her throat whimper.

She tried to hold it back, everything inside of her.

The anger, the power, everything swirling in her soul, scratching at her heart.

She tried to keep it all from spilling out, but it was like trying to contain a hurricane.

She failed, miserably.

Even with her eyes closed she could see the lightning. Could see the bluish silver colour of it a it sparked all over her skin, as it enveloped her…as it…as it poured into the ground like water. 

It was like a tempest was roaring through her veins, like the very lightning was snapping at her skin.

It was too much.

The power. The feeling.

It was all too much.

It was like a living current, like a thousand burning tendrils tracing over her skin, igniting every nerve ending like wildfire.

Every muscle felt like it was twitching, every nerve like it was screaming.

It was almost painful, the lightning dancing like little claws over her skin.

She tried to hold it back, wanted it all to stop.

But it was like a dam had burst.

All her anger, all her rage, all the things that had been brewing in her soul were now pouring out like a tsunami.

The ground around her was torn up, little pieces of grass and dirt thrown about by the currents of her power.

It was like an ocean of energy, like a storm in miniature, and it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside. Everything felt raw and exposed, like every nerve ending was on fire, and the lightning just wouldn’t stop.

She wanted to curl up, desperately wanted it to end and just wanted to stop feeling all at the same time. And then...then it was over.

Then it was over.

Her heart was still thundering in her chest, the sound deafening in her ears, the electricity leaving her skin feeling oversensitive and raw. Her body felt exhausted, every muscle screaming and every nerve like a live wire of pain. 

And then, as suddenly as it had all started, it was over.

Eira was aware of a sudden moment of silence. And then she was aware of her own ragged breathing, how her heart was beating so hard in her chest she was sure it was going to break through her ribs.

Eira sat there, feeling the cold air biting into her skin.

She was alone.

Completely alone.

She was at the edge of a forest, sitting on the ground. Her hair was a mess, dirt and grass sticking to the strands, and her hands and clothes were stained with it.

She was cold, and her body felt almost numb, but she still couldn’t move.

You need to get up the shadows whispered suddenly.

She heard them, the shadows whispering to her.

It was like a voice in her ear, a quiet and almost urgent murmur.

You need to get up.

They sounded almost...concerned.

She forced herself to speak, to get the words past the lump in her throat.

“Where... where am I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The shadows remained silent for a moment, before she heard them reply, a quiet murmur.

Illyria. You winnowed. You need to get somewhere safe.

She froze slightly at the words.

Not at the idea of being in Illyria, but at the last part.

You winnowed.

She had...winnowed.

She had somehow managed to winnow in her anger, in her fury, to land in the middle of godforsaken Illyria.

She swallowed, trying to get through the fog of her mind.

You need to get somewhere safe.

The shadows were right, and the rational part of her knew she needed to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from the dangers of being right there. 

Eira didn’t know what kind of display she had just made, but she could imagine it. And if some rogue Illyrian was going to find her…some rogue Illyrian who hated the High Lord…she was going to die. She somehow didn’t doubt that for one moment. 

But she was also…tired. So tired it felt like her bones were made of lead, and she wasn’t sure if she could even move.

The shadows started pulling at her, like invisible hands gripping her and carefully lifting her to her feet.

She staggered a little, trying to keep her balance, her body still shaky from the aftermath of her outburst.

The forest seemed even more ominous in the faint light, the trees like shadowy sentinels surrounding her with their silent vigil…the smell of smoke in the air. She stared to find some of the trees being nothing but smoking black carcasses. 

Her trembling intensified. 

She had done that. She had…Today it hadn’t been people. Today it had only been trees. Somehow that did nothing to calm her. 

But the shadows still held her, guiding her forward, almost like they were trying to lead her somewhere.

One tendril wrapped around her wrist, like an invisible tether, pulling her forward with each stumbling step.

She wasn't sure how long she stumbled after it...every movement sluggish and shaky.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on, how long she stumbled and tripped through the shadows of the forest.

She was tired, so tired she felt like she could go to sleep and stay there on the cold forest floor. But the shadows still pulled her on, their grasp a gentle but firm pressure around her wrist, guiding her ever forward.

Safe. We’ll get you somewhere safe, the shadows whispered. Safe. Safe. 

Azriel. Azriel was safe. She needed Azriel. She needed…

For just one second she could have sworn that she smelt him…smelt cedars and mist, just as the shadows dragged her through…something. Something sticky like honey, like the very air had just hardened around her. 

The shadows whispered in her ear, a quiet murmur.

Nearly there.

She still felt tired, still felt like her body was made of lead, but the words from the shadows gave her the strength to keep going.

Nearly there.

She was blinking, and then she wasn’t.

And suddenly... suddenly a cottage appeared before her, like it had just sprung up from thin air.

She stumbled with surprise, her eyes wide as she stared at the cottage before her. 

A simple dark grey stone cottage.  It looked old, but well kept, sturdy and solid enough to withstand the harshness of Illyria.

There was a thin trail of smoke curling up from the chimney, and a warm light shining from the windows.

It was clearly lived in, clearly a home .

Esmeray will take care of you.  

Eira was bewildered, and confused, and her mind was sluggish and slow.

The shadows had brought her here, to this cottage, and now they were whispering about this...Esmeray.

She didn’t know who Esmeray was, and had never heard of her, but the shadows trusted her. 

Still, she stumbled up to that cottage door, hand grabbling against the door, clawing against the door frame to hold herself up. 

And then she heard a sound, a voice coming from inside.

"Who in the Mother's name...?"The sound of footsteps came padding hastily nearer, the door opened…and Eira would have nearly fallen into the house if she hadn’t caught herself. 

The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.

Illyrian. A pair of ruined wings hanging from her back. Dark hair braided back into a long braid that fell down her back. She was beautiful. Hazel-green eyes, sharp eyebrows...She froze as she saw Eira, her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the battered, ragged appearance of the female on her threshold.

"Great Mother alive....What happened to you?" The Illyrian exclaimed, her eyes widening as she saw the state Eira was in.

She took a few quick steps forward, reaching out like she was to grab Eira from the doorway.

Eira didn’t have time to protest before the Illyrian grabbed her arm, pulling her all the way through the door and into the cottage. The inside of the cottage was warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a faint, homey scent of smoke and herbs lingered in the air.

She was surprised, speechless at the quick movement, and her legs all but gave out underneath her.

The female caught her before she hit the floor, quickly steadying her and practically dragging her to where a chair was set by the fire.

The shadows swirled around her, dancing and flitting in the air like a little cyclone. The female noticed them, an eyebrow raising at the strange phenomenon, and turned a questioning gaze towards Eira. "Did Azriel send you here?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with something like alarm.

Eira struggled to find her voice, her throat dry and her mind fogged. Trying to speak was like trying to pull the words from the thick fog that filled her mind, but she managed to give a vague shake of her head, gesturing towards the dancing shadows.

The female tilted her head, seeming to understand her silent meaning.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked towards the shadows swirling around her.

"The shadows...did they bring you here?" she asked, her eyes flickering between Eira and the dark tendrils of air.

Eira nodded weakly, unable to summon the strength to speak.

Yes. The shadows had brought her here. They were still spinning and flitting around her, their presence a strangely comforting one.

The female’s brows furrowed more, as she took in Eira’s battered appearance, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the dancing shadows.

"What exactly happened to you?" she asked, her voice sharp and urgent, as she examined Eira for any more injuries. She was checking her over as she spoke, her hands gently but firmly moving over Eira's arms, chest and back. The female’s voice was quiet and gentle, like she was trying to soothe a spooked animal.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet Eira’s.

Eira thought for a moment, trying to force her mind to work, to pull the words and her own name from the corners of her mind.

It took a moment, but she finally managed to rasp the words out.

“...Eira.”

The female nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer.

"Eira. That's a nice name." she said softly, before pausing. A moment of silence, as the female seemed to study her. And then… "Eira Archeron?" Surprise coloured her voice, and her eyes widened as she took in Eira's face, studying her features.

She was looking at Eira, her hazel-green eyes searching her face, like she was trying to find some resemblance, a small smile appearing on her face.

"My son mentioned you before," she said quietly. “My son mentioned you before,” she repeated again, her voice still quiet and soft.

It took a moment for her words to register.

Her son… mentioned her?

"Your... son?" she managed to croak out.

The female chuckled.

"Azriel," she said quietly, her voice holding an undeniable note of pride.

Eira's mind went quiet, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his name. Her mind was like a sluggish, muddy mess, but something clicked as the words sank into her mind.

Her son. Azriel. 

Esmeray was Azriel’s mother . 

He...he had mentioned her? To his mother?!

To his mother.

The words circled her mind, repeating again and again.

To his mother, to his mother, to h-

The female seemed to recognize her shock, her surprise. And her words came softly, as her eyes never left Eira’s face.

"My son always was a quiet one. But he has a habit of mentioning the things that are important to him. You and your sisters clearly are considered important to him. Elain is your twin sister, isn't she?" The words seemed like they were spoken through a fog. Eira’s mind was in shambles, still reeling from the fact that Azriel might have mentioned her to his mother. But her mind caught on the other words.

Elain. Her twin sister.

She could only give a jerky nod in response, the movement making the world spin for a moment.

"My name is Esmeray," Azriel's mother introduced herself. Esmeray. "Welcome to Rosehall, Eira."

Rosehall.The word echoed in Eira’s head.

She was at Azriel’s mother’s home, a place called...Rosehall.

And the female before her...was Azriel’s mother.

Esmeray. Her name matched the warmth of her voice, and there was a kindness to her face that made Eira trust her instinctively.

Esmeray’s voice was soft as she spoke, a kind and gentle tone.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The words rang through the buzzing mess that was Eira’s mind, and she almost wanted to cringe with frustration. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t remember.

But Esmeray’s voice was so gentle, so...motherly. It made her just want to spill all her troubles, to lay down her head and just...rest.

The words fumbled out of her mouth, stumbling over her tongue as she forced them out one by one.

"I...I was gardening,” she said, her voice soft, “back home...Amren came...we had words...I...I got angry...”

She paused a moment, hesitating, before forcing herself to continue.

“I winnowed...I ended up next to a forest...I think…I think I killed the trees..."

Esmeray was watching her, her eyes not leaving her face for a second. There was concern in her face, surprise and alarm, but none of the judgment Eira had expected to find there.

She could only swallow, feeling all at once like a little child again. A frightened, exhausted and weary little child, all but collapsing in the presence of a caring adult.

Esmeray didn’t move, but there was a quiet pause before she spoke again.

"The shadows led you here," Esmeray said, her voice still soft and gentle. 

The shadows wrapped around Eira’s wrist tighter, another tendril moving and twirling around her like they were acknowledging what Esmeray had said.

Esmeray seemed to blink twice at the shadow’s behaviour. "I imagine my son is already aware of what happened then," she said, her voice quiet.

True. The shadows would have told Azriel what was going on, right? So why hadn’t he come? 

Master will be there as soon as he can, the shadows whispered to her. It's alright. They were trying to soothe her, in their own quiet, strange way.

Esmeray was watching her, studying her like a worried mother.

“Let’s clean you up,” she said, her voice still soft and gentle, "Are you hungry? Thirsty? You are in shock, you are shaking.”

It was only then that Eira realized she was shivering and quaking. Like her body was trying to tremble apart.

The female stepped closer but didn't touch her yet, her eyes still studying Eira like she was trying to decide what to do with her. "And what happened to your clothes, sweetheart?" she asked softly, almost to herself, as her eyes raked over the torn, ragged state of Eira’s gown.

It was only then that Eira remembered the sorry state of her own attire. Torn, stained, dirty, ragged, burnt in some places, ripped in others… she must have looked like she had stumbled right out of a nightmare.

And then Esmeray reached for her, gently taking her arms in her hands.

Eira could have pulled away. Her body told her to pull away. She didn’t know this female, had never even met her. And yet…

"Come," Esmeray said quietly, "Let's get you washed and into some clean clothes."

She seemingly blinked and Esmeray had her bundled into a thick nightgown and had chivied her back into the kitchen...herbs drying over the the stove, as she put the kettle on and then sat across from Eira to carefully clean the scrapes on her hands. Her hands were spread out on the tabletop, and Esmeray was bent over them, carefully cleaning the scrapes and cuts there with some sort of ointment. The female seemed to be an expert when it came to tending wounds, her movements swift, yet gentle.

The silence in the cabin was so absolute, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle on the stove, the steady hum of the pot, and the occasional stirring of the herbs above.

It was comforting, in an odd way. Like for the first time in a long time, Eira could draw in a deep breath without worrying about what would come next.

Her mind was still so sluggish, but the steam rolling off the kettle, and the clean scent of the herbs all seemed to be slowly coaxing her out of the fog that filled her head.

Perhaps even her body was beginning to relax. Eira felt...more grounded now, like she was less on the verge of collapsing than before. 

The kettle started to whistle, and Esmeray looked up. Her movements were swift, as she took it off the boil and poured the hot water into a teapot. “Here, drink something,” she said, pushing the tea towards Eira, her voice not leaving much room for arguments.

It was a command, not a suggestion. Though Esmeray’s tone was still quiet, kind. Yet there was a hint of a mother’s steel in it. Eira tried to remember her own mother ever cleaning her scrapes and making her tea. She came up empty. 

Her own mother had been more of the opinion that children should be seen not heard. 

Eira couldn’t even remember her mother ever having hugged her, now that she thought of it. 

Esmeray pushed the steaming teacup towards her, raising an expectant, dark eyebrow.

Eira took it, hesitantly wrapping her fingers around the warm cup, and raised it to her lips, hesitating to take a sip. Esmeray was watching her, studying her even now, even in these simple moments. Eira drank, swallowing the bitter, sweet tea.

It burned slightly on the way down, but it seemed to help, as the fog in her mind receded ever so slightly.

“You have three sisters, don’t you? Nesta, Elain and Feyre? Azriel mentioned that.” 

And there it was again. Azriel’s name. Again. He had mentioned her. He’d...spoken about her to his mother.

And somehow Eira still couldn’t wrap her head around it, even as the words echoed in her mind. Azriel mentioned it.

She nodded quietly, a jerky movement that made her head hurt. “Yes.”

Her voice was dry and rasping, and she winced slightly, as she forced the words out.

Esmeray nodded, looking pleased at her answer.

“He’s quite fond of you,” she said simply.

Her words slammed into Eira like a punch to the stomach. He was fond of her. Azriel...He was fond of her.

The words seemed to send a strange sort of shudder through her entire body. He was fond of her. Her mind was still so fuzzy and messy, but the words kept ringing in her head, like a bell someone was tolling over and over again.

He was fond of her.

Esmeray was watching her, her gaze unwavering, and it made Eira realize that the female must have noticed her reaction.

But if she had, she didn’t make any move to mention it. Instead, she just kept looking at Eira, like she was waiting for some sort of reaction.

And so Eira forced herself to speak. “How….how do you know?”

Her words were a bit steadier now, the bitter, yet warm tea working its magic.

“My son may be skilled with the shadows,” Esmeray said with a wry smile, “But he still has the same tell he had from when he was a child. You can tell he’s fond of someone, if you know where to look, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. And he is quite fond of you…though he may be fonder of that twin sister of yours,” she said with a laugh. Elain.

Eira swallowed. She understood what Esmeray was hinting at in a roundabout way without her needing to say another word. "Too bad she turned out to be mated to another," Esmeray said with a sigh.

And just like that, it felt like somebody put a knife straight into her heart and twisted. 

Elain. 

Azriel may was fond of her…but he was fonder of Elain. Elain was the one who Azriel had been in love with. The one he couldn’t have. 

Eira…Eira was just a replacement, wasn’t she? A consolation prize. 

It stung, like a thousand needles stabbing into her skin. A replacement.

She looked down into her teacup, trying to will the stinging in her eyes away.

Esmeray was watching her still, taking note of her reaction again."Why do I feel like I just said something I shouldn’t have, sweetheart?” Esmeray asked softly. 

Eira shook her head, tears stinging into her eyes. 

It wasn't her place to tell Azriel's mother about their mating bond. That should be something that should be coming from him. But Esmeray was watching her and Eira felt like she was seeing everything that was going on in her life. Esmeray was watching her, her eyes sharp and shrewd, as they studied Eira in quiet silence.

And then, all of a sudden, her face softened, and her voice was even softer as she asked quietly, “Did something between you and my son...happen?”

The words seemed to freeze Eira’s lungs.

How had she known? How had she known?

She swallowed, and then opened her mouth, ready to deny the fact...her words dying in her throat.

She couldn’t lie to that face, not the softness in it, not the motherly concern.

The tears came so suddenly they made Eira gasp. They were hot, sliding down her face, and she couldn’t seem to wipe them away, no matter how hard she tried.

Esmeray’s face softened even more, and before Eira knew what was happening, the female was crouched in front of her, her hand reaching up to gently wipe away a stray tear.

“Oh sweetheart...” Esmeray’s voice was soft, almost motherly. “Oh, what’s wrong?” 

The tenderness in the mother’s voice made Eira’s chest ache even through the tears, and a quiet sob escaped her.

What was wrong ? Where to even start? Her powers, the bond, Elain, Azriel, the guilt....

It was all too much.

And yet, Esmeray was there. Her voice soft yet stern, her dark eyes kind and concerned as she sat across from Eira, with no sign of budging. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said gently. “What happened? What did my idiot of a son do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything,” she protested weakly. “He didn’t…”

“Then what happened?” Esmeray pushed gently. “What happened to you, sweetheart? You don’t just start winnowing accidentally if everything is well, Eira.”

She wasn’t even sure where she was supposed to start. 

“She….Elain is a seer,” she said weakly, her voice broken.

Esmeray nodded slowly, as understanding seemed to flicker on her features, even as she gestured for Eira to keep talking. "She...she had a vision. Of...Of...Azriel and me," Eira managed to bring out, brokenly. "She tried to make sure that it wouldn't come true....Tried to...He...the mating bond...snapped for him two weeks or so ago."

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears.

Her voice was a broken mess, and her throat felt so dry, like each word was scratching her already abused vocal cords. But Esmeray stayed quiet, only nodded.

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears. "The bond….the bond snapped for Azriel around two weeks ago," Eira finally managed, and then she couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, each one more choked and broken than the last. "She...tried so hard to keep the vision from coming true but...it still happened. It happened. I...I am his...mate"

The words broke off, as the tears came again, the sobs now choking her, "I am his…his mate," she repeated, and just saying the word out loud made the tears flow again, her heart aching almost painfully in her chest.

She was his mate. And yet, he had been…he had been in love with Elain. The one he couldn’t have. She was just the replacement.

The tears were still falling, and the sobs were still wracking her body, as she heard Esmeray’s soft, yet quiet words. “And you….how do you feel about my son?”

"I met him when I was...I was still human," she forced out. "I looked at him and...it was just...I...I fell in love. He was...he was so gentle. Kind. And the shadows…the shadows were so beautiful. I fell in love…before I knew what a  mating bond even was.” She felt her tears starting to flow harder once more, despite her efforts to keep them at bay.

She had loved him before the bond. Even before their magic had intertwined and made them mates, she had loved him. Loved him and all his quiet, dark, beautiful glory. And the fact that he had been in love with someone else….it just made everything hurt worse.

Her tears were now falling more steadily, and no matter how hard she tried to blink them back they wouldn’t stop.

Esmeray was still watching her, her dark eyes fixed on Eira’s quivering form, but she was quiet now, her features thoughtful. There was a weight in the room now as the both of them remained silent.

The only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle, and the low hum of the pot above the stove, and Eira’s shuddering breaths.

"Drink your tea, sweetheart," Esmeray finally said quietly. "It seems like I need to have a talk with my son about actually writing me more often than monthly."

Eira managed a small, if a bit shaky, snort, even as she brought the mug of tea up to her lips again. As the warm liquid slid down her throat, she slowly, gradually, managed to get her breathing under control again and her tears dried up.

There was nothing she could change about it, could she? 

She had always known that she probably wasn’t going to marry for love. She had just thought that…maybe…maybe becoming Fae would at least grant her that. 

“At least tell me my son didn’t react badly to the news?” It was a quiet question, but Eira could hear the sharp, motherly tone to the it. It was a quiet yet clear demand to know just how exactly her son had taken the news of them being mated.

"He wants to try. He's trying to court me the human way," Eira’s voice was weak…tired. She heard the sharp intake of breath from Esmeray. 

" Human way?” There was a small note of surprise to her voice, but Eira chose to ignore it.

"I used to be human," Eira said weakly. "Then I got thrown into the cauldron." Esmeray just inclined her head in a mute nod, indicating she had understood.

There was a small note of melancholy in her voice, as her dark eyes seemed to study Eira's before her lips curled into a small smile.  “Then I suppose I have plenty to talk to my son about,” she murmured softly. “Are you hungry? I was going to make dinner soon,” she said with a smile. 

Eira opened her mouth to answer and was then interrupted by a white cat that padded into the room, meowing loudly. The cat took one look at Eira, meowed happily, and then hopped into her lap, purring loudly. 

“That’s just Flora,” Esmeray said with a fond smile, "She's probably trying to get away from her babies for a bit. They have turned into little terrors these days."

Eira let out a small, choked laugh, trying and mostly failing to resist the urge to immediately begin rubbing the purring cat behind the ears.

She had always loved cats. It was a small comfort, as the creature rubbed its head against her hand, purring loudly. Just as Esmeray had said, 3 kittens were not far behind their mother.

The three kittens hopped into the room and immediately began climbing up onto the nearest piece of furniture. One managed to scale a nearby bookcase, and another made their way onto the table near the window, while the third decisively scaled Eira’s skirts to curl up on her leg together with its mother. They were adorable, all three of them, small and white fluff balls, stumbling about as they scrambled after their mother.

The kitten immediately nuzzled against Eira’s hand, purring loudly, clearly looking for more pats from her, looking at her with sapphire blue eyes. 

Eira couldn’t help her small smile, as she began to gently rub the kitten behind it’s small ears. The cat seemed to enjoy the attention, as it began purring louder, its little back arching every now and then.

The shadows tightened around her wrist, and she would have laughed at their display of jealousy any other time, but right now it just got a weak smile from her as the kitten curled up on her lap to take a nap. 

“She seems to have taken a liking to you,” Esmeray commented with a smile, watching the kitten rub its head against Eira’s hand, clearly demanding more pats. 

[bunniehrtz]

mommy abby taking out her work stress on reader (ofc being the aftercare queen too) plsss

cw: kinda mean!abby, breeding kink, mirror sex, little cutesy aftercare

the front door of your shared apartment slams and it makes you jump. the air in your room goes cold, and you hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. a sound you know all too well.

abby has been having a tough time during her recent patrols - too many infected, shit partners, too many infected and shit partners. she comes home wound up and there’s only one solution. fucking you senseless. it has become almost routine but this time felt different. the house felt dark, cold, angry. abby bursts through the door, grabbing you by your forearms, pinning you down onto your bed. you try to pull away to talk to her. you should’ve known better. “abby- abs. what’s- fuck. what’s wrong?” you attempt to say in between kisses. “don’t- i don’t want to talk. just want you,” she says breathily, grinding her hips down into yours, her hands lifting up your shirt, throwing it behind her. as you let out a pornographic moan, abby slips her tongue into your mouth, exploring it feverishly. your chest flush against abby’s own, moaning into her mouth. “need- fuck. need to fuck you. need to have my way with you. will you let me?” she asks, out of breath. “yes, abby. yes,”

your back against abby’s, her huge hand holding your jaw, forcing you to look at yourself in the reflection of the mirror. “don’t look away, don’t close your legs, you’re not going fucking anywhere,” abby spits and you whimper in agreement. you let out a deafening scream at abby’s index, middle and ring finger slowly inching inside your soaked cunt. her attack on your pussy is brutal, your head thrown back against her shoulder, your eyes shut tight and you can only hear the slick wetness of your pussy and abby’s groans at said sound. “you hear that, baby? yeah? dirty fuckin’ bitch. so fucking dirty for me,”

“please, abs. please, ‘m so close, abs,” you try to say through moans. the fire in your stomach is so strong. and it disappears. “what? no, abby, no, please. was so close, abs,” you pout up at her, she smirks back down at you.

“not yet. on your hands and knees. face the mirror.”

the bed knocks against the wall, almost crashing through it. the squeaks of the bed go right through you and the pace in which her cock is pounding into you is mind numbing. your chest against the bed, your ass up in the air. abby’s hold on your hips is strong, her grip on your hair is even stronger, keeping your head up to make sure you keep eye contact with her. “if this dick was fuckin’ real, i’d be putting a baby inside you, fuck. you’d let me, wouldn’t you? want me to make you a mommy? say it. fuckin’ say it, baby,” abby encourages. “yes- oh, fuck! yes, want it so bad, please!” abby’s thrusts become quicker and harsher, her grip on you tightening. “yeah, i know, baby. i know. you wanna cum? you wanna cum, baby?” abby pulls you up by your hair, her hips attached to your neck, as she mutters. “cum for me, cum on this dick, baby. cum on this dick and i’ll cum inside this pretty pussy. come on, baby.” you let go with a scream, and a kiss on your neck.

—————

“you’re so beautiful, baby. drink up,” abby coos softly, handing you a bottle of water. you take a sip, cuddling into her. “are you okay? didn’t hurt you, right?” you shake your head, leaning up to press a kiss on abby’s lips.

“you didn’t, i’m okay.”

“good.”

“i love you.”

“i love you more, baby.”

“were you being serious about the baby thing?”

“you know i was.”

you cheeks heat as you cuddle more into abby’s chest, your eyes closing for the night. abby’s hands draw shapes on your back as you fall asleep, feeling as safe as ever.