#BUT ONLY BECAUSE IT IS A PERIOD TYPICAL PET NAME!!!!

[hoshigray]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐆𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | s. gojō + k. nanami + h. higuruma

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Two demon hunters and a witch unite to take down a demon terrorizing the locals — sounds easy enough until the demon puts up a good fight and drags you three in for a night you’ll never forget…!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: demon! Gojo + demon hunters! Nanami & Higuruma x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - fantasy! au - porn w/ plot - reader + Nanami (aged 27), Higuruma (36) + Gojo (???) - double penetration (anal & vaginal) - foursome (MFMM) - [anal] fingering! (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - handjobs - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - face-sitting + cowgirl positions - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - biting/nibbling - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!!) - pet names (baby, cutie, cupcake, darling, [my] love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - usage of aphrodisiacs - bit of humor bc i'm [not] funny - mention of blood, drool/spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (i'm so sick...)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first fic of kintober, lessgooooo!! always wanted to write smthn with higunana, so I'm glad i can check that off my list now :333 my first foursome fic, I'm bout to end it all.

“—OWW!! Fuck…easy with the magic, witch!”

“Good work, sorceress; a good hit.”

“He went toward the abandoned mansion as planned; if we’re lucky, with that gash on his shoulder, he shouldn’t be going anywhere…Let’s stay close.”

You nod to the words, the pendant of your necklace shines. “Lead the way.”

Of course, it was a dark and rainy night befalling this day; the twilight light diminished hours within an hour, leaving the stars to scatter around as the waxing crescent dominated the black sky. The only light outside of these is the lantern harboring the flame as you tread under the forest’s trees with purpose, and heavy falling droplets coat your hood and mask the sounds of wet footsteps.

This isn’t the place to walk around during this time of night; the town is fifteen minutes away, the nearest bustle of civilization for its townspeople or passersby. For a night like this, you’d want to be as far away from the rain’s reach: hanging with neighbors or community within the local pubs, calling on a carriage that would service you to your way home, or already cuddled up on your bed and letting the hit of the rainfall hypnotize you to an easy slumber. This is what is expected of the regular townsman, away from the hands of trouble or danger.

However, you are not a townsman – nor are you ordinary – which is why you’re walking up a path that leads to the opened fenced gates of a deserted home. 

“Blood on the ground leads us here,” you were not alone, as one hooded person comments while leading you past the gates forced open. He holds a lantern, the flame closeted by the glass being a light source aside from the periodic lightning that graces the dome above. Tiny bits of his blonde hair can be seen thanks to the glow. 

“Just as you expected, Kento.” Another hooded man speaks before you in your company while tailing behind the other man. “There’s the old Gakuganji mansion…Sorceress, can you cast a veil to make sure the demon has no way to leave?”

You walk between them. “Please stand aside, hunters.” The men don’t move a foot as you distance yourself, leaving you with the space necessary to do what you need to. Because what you’re about to do is something no average man could do but imagine.

Again, that’s only possible because you are not an ordinary townsman…but, instead, a witch.

You raise a hand with your fore and middle finger to your lips. “Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness…” The shadow under your feet goes still, breaking its typical mandate and moving to swirl into a circle. “Purify that which is impure, impure that tarnishes the pure…” The dark circle increases, its massive size swallowing whatever is in its path. It sneaks under the feet of the two men behind you, their shadows unionizing with the giant shape and continuing to grow. Yet, the men remain silent as the darkness consumes the Earth. The grass, the mansion, the damaged fenced gates — the circle expands outward until it meets the trees of the woods. “May the shadows guard the light, keep the unseen from being seen…”  Then, the shadowed shape spirals within its outline, picking itself while the foundations lay on the ground. Liquid matter encircles around as it rises, forming a dome-like profile until the dripping fragments atop piece together. “And may this viel cleanse its inhabitants and scene…Bounded Barrier: Curtain!”

The constructed umbra shields you three from the outside world, sheltering those below from the pattering hits and sounds of the thunderstorm. Knowing this, you discard your hood to the ground and let the cool air greet the skin of your cheeks; the two men behind you mimic and follow as you walk up to the old front doors of the mansion, which also, from inspection, is damaged. A massive hole is gashed onto the aged wooden frame, and lights aren’t on to greet you in the foyer. 

The blonde man takes a few steps ahead of you. “His blood leads to the upstairs.” Now that his hood is off, the light from the lantern highlights more of his hair. “Higuruma-san, my blade.”

“Right here, Kento.” The other person, Hiromi Higuruma, is a brunet man with his hair pushed up, and the older hunter’s clothes is kept dry from the rainfall. Adorning an aloof expression, he pulls something out of his case and hands it to the blonde. “Be sure to stand on guard, you two. The curtain may keep things out and things in, but one wrong move and we’re in trouble.”

“Roger,” the fair-haired Kento Nanami is a younger huntsman despite his appearance. He takes the blunt sword sheathed with a black spotted cloth with one hand while the other scavengers through a pocket. “Sorceress, can you ensure the demon cannot leave this mansion?”

A curt nod is all you give before venturing a hand to the miniature bag that sits behind your back. You pull out multiple pieces of paper, talismans that you throw up in the air as you mutter words under your breath. They ignore the force of gravity and stay airborne, aligning themselves into a circle as they glow into a bluish-white halo. As you recite, your hands come up from the bell sleeves of your dress as if to hold the gleaming circle. But then, you snap your fingers, and the luminous papers immediately break from the circle and head in different directions. Some go outside the huge home while others scram around the inside, a trail following each as they travel up the stairs or down the vast halls. 

“The talismans will go around to every window, door, or opening in this mansion,” you turn to utter a quick spell, and the broken door reconstructs itself back to its original standing with a big spell mark painted on its surface. It flares when you snap your fingers again. “Any contact he makes with them will subdue his powers temporarily. But I’m sure he knows that as well…”

“My thoughts exactly,” Higuruma agrees with you after pulling items from his case to pass to Nanami. He then claps his hands and enumerates a prayer under his lips, and something emerges from the shadows. A black body camouflaged with the dark shade with three stubby points and a face, eyes sewn shut and gritting its teeth. A shikigami, and it swims to where you three stand, curling to where the oldest is. “Better take care of him now while we have the upper hand. Let’s move.”

You and Nanami nod and let Higuruma steer the company to where the blood takes them, walking up the stairs and avoiding the darkness to take hold of their figures because of the lantern. 

Walking in the woods and expediting in old, abandoned homes isn’t something you’d do regularly. But, for a case like this, it’s a routine you’re not unfamiliar with. It comes with being a leper of the woods, an outcast to those who don’t comprehend your routine. Endowed with advanced knowledge of magic and texts, you are the sole witch residing in these forests, practically knowing every way, sound, root, and print like the back of your palm and all the while staying enclosed to yourself, isolating away from the judgemental looks and discrimating words of the common folk. 

Now, if you’re so looked down upon, what calls you here in what seems to be a chase for a demon? Well, for the past three months, the nearby municipality has been sprouting accounts of “supernatural” encounters. What started as something that only a handful of people would recollect turned into havoc brought upon the townspeople daily. The elderly are spooked to the point of shivers, children crying at the most bizarre sights of floating objects and beings, and even narratives that speak about being attacked — all of this from the same demon terrorizing this once peaceful community. 

A demon is causing trouble; what does that have to deal with you? As far as you can tell, none of the people in that town even look your way or treat you with barely decent manners without you harboring a disguise — why should I care for them? That is the question you raised to the two hunters who traveled into the forest to find your hut and bring the issue to you. The same hunters you are silently searching through this mansion’s dusty halls and rooms.

Demon sightings and encounters typically go straight for the church, with experienced deacons and reverends coming together to ordain a jurisdiction on dealing with the wicked spirit based on their ancient teachings. Nonetheless, the church has admitted defeat in exorcising this particular demon. This robust, evil creature is gifted with abilities that have caused near-death for the most adept church members. Every failed attempt only fuels more despair for them and the citizens…which is the demon hunter guild sent two of their fairly newest yet most skilled to come to your abode and convince you to lend them your expertise.

At first, you watched as the two men tried to sway your resilience into giving them aid, yet your stubbornness was a solid obstacle for them to navigate. To you, helping a community that holds ill will towards you just because of your lifestyle to the point of outcasting yourself makes your stomach turn into the worst of knots — something both Higuruma and Nanami found validation in your sternness. But they inquired, you are a practitioner far from their customs, meaning your ridiculed ways have a different advantage and approach. To them, the combined powers of the hunting party and sorcery are necessary to bring down the same evil. Not to mention, you knew of this demon and his powers, so your intellect is profoundly essential – if not by the townspeople, then by the two comely huntsmen begging for your cooperation. 

So, with a heavy sigh and a “…Fine,” you agree to work with the men on their mission on the condition that they capture the ghoul alive. And with two handshakes and a day to devise a plan, you’re now in this rusty place combing for the injured specimen that’s caused all this disturbance…

The inspection is done quietly so the three pairs of ears can catch any cue of noise or voice. No sentences are exchanged, and the three of you are on the same page and motioning around the halls not to have your position compromised for your enemy. Until a clash is heard in a room down the hall, you and the hunters swiftly appear at the door.

Before anything is done, you gently place your fingers on the wooden surface, and your eyes glare with the contact. The material before you turns transparent, the room’s contents visible to your naked eye. According to the layout, this is the second-floor living area with a fireplace, a couch set, and bookshelves on the far right side. And something - no, someone - writhing on the ground, clutching its left shoulder - or what’s left of it as there’s a massive chunk eviscerated off from the collar to the bicep — and bolts of lightning course around the seething figure until faded.

He tried to escape from the window; you note that the exact strings of bolts come from a giant closed windowsill, a talisman plastered outside on the glass. Your eyes return to normal, “I’m going in.” You move without an answer from the huntsmen, your hands grabbing the handles and pushing them to let you in. With your entrance to the cold room, the person is alerted and groans in agony as they change positions for battle despite the pain conveyed in their huffs. You snap your fingers and throw light to the fireplace, and you’re finally met with the being you’ve been tailing after. 

White hair is the first thing that captures your eyes, followed by the bare chest exposed by the lack of a shirt—black hakama with intricate blue and white designs that skitter the bottom openings. Sky-blue tattoos decorate the milky skin from his wrist to his shoulders, pectorals, and streak back to his nape. Finally, the blue horns and tail confirm his non-humanness, and the six signature eyes that his face holds. Six cerulean orbs lock into your frame; the “normal” set has two eyes sitting beneath them, all shining cautiously.

“Gojo Satoru,” you speak first. “Good to see you again.”

He scoffs with a pained grimace. “Wish I could say the same to you, witch. But I didn’t know getting my shoulder murked was part of the greeting.” His right hand was coated with blood from the open wound, crimson spilling down his arm onto the carpeted ground. 

“My apologies,” you say flatly with a step forward. Yet you halt at Gojo’s bloody hand, which forms a sign and points to you. “But you were given multiple chances to stop and still ran.”

“Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do when you’re being chased by a dark sorceress and two pushy demon hunters,” he spits blood to the side before averting his gaze to the door. “Whom I can sense hiding with a weapon and shikigami, by the way—not cool, Nanamin!”

“Not my name.” Nanami bluntly retorts before you continue. 

“You know why we were chasing you down, Gojo. You’ve been frightening the townspeople for the past three moons, an issue that’s been troublesome enough for the church to seek my help.”

Six eyes roll with the click of the teeth. “Mch, traitor, outed by a fellow outcaster.”

“Know it wasn’t my initial choice. Besides,” you move the slit of your dress to open the bag of your thigh. Your forefinger and thumb pull out a green liquid tablet. “You should be thankful that I’m the one capturing you and not killing you here and now.”

You throw the tablet in the demon’s direction, who catches it with his tongue and gulps it down. Instantly, a grumble of stress and pain befalls Gojo, his hand returning to the wound you’re responsible for. This time, tissue muscle regenerates and stitches itself back into its earliest mode, rebuilding his shoulder until the skin morphs back and restores the tattoo that once sat there. “Haaahhh…how thoughtful of you.”

“Stand down now, Satoru,” you cross your arms and crouch. “Leave this place and return to the demon realm where you’ve agreed to stay.” 

“No can do, witch. I ain’t going anywhere until I get what’s mine.” Now that his injury is sealed, he stands up to dust off his pants and stretches. “And seeing that you’ve finally crawled out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding for three months, looks like you’re ready to return it.”

A neutral expression remains. “I’m not giving it back.”

“Then I’m not going back — not like I have any interest to anyway; it’s sooooo boring there.”

“The last time I had to come after you and your antics was with Yaga half a year ago,” you caught the slight narrow of his eyes at the mention of the retired demon hunter. “And the only reason you still walk among the living is because you agreed to his conditions that you return to the demon realm and give me half of your Limitless and Infinity.”

“Agreed or getting hit by the old man until I said I would?” He jokes, but he points to his head where the former hunter had beaten the young ghoul with the sheath of his sword. “But I don’t sense him with you. Guess the geezer finally retired, and not many huntsmen are up to his level now,” Gojo spaces his feet to steady his stance, putting his fists up with a smirk. “Meaning it won’t be too hard getting the rest of my power back.”

You lift a brow. “You underestimate me.”

“Can’t help it,” all his eyes laminate to a brighter hue. “You might be a sorcerer, but you’re still human, flesh and bones that can break easily with or without my Limitless.”

“You think you can break me.”

Metallic nails sharpen with a flex, “Without a doubt.”

Silence shays between you two briefly before you stand right back up. “Then you’re just as foolish as any other human.”

At the final word, the huntsmen dash into the room and begin to charge Gojo’s way, running past your figure as you recite spells. However, the demon’s eyes shine expectantly, slashing his hand filled with energy to dart red crescent-like blades to the men. They dodge and go in opposite directions. Nanami uses his blade and aims for Gojo’s forearm—no damage, used as a shield with his Limitless.

“Nanami~n, how’ve ya been?” The monster asks with a chipper, nonchalantly pushing his arm to push the fair-haired man back. “It’s been a while; I haven’t seen you since you came to get me and Suguru from an old pub!”

“Yes, I remember,” Nanami voices with slight reluctance, sneaking a dagger into the abdomen only for his wrist to be caught by the demon’s tail. “I also remember my superiors warning you and Geto-san to quit causing trouble.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that? Staying in the demon realm is dull and boring. But here,” Gojo puts Nanami on his back with a swift swipe of his leg, kicking him to the chest for a strained groan. “Here is not much of a buzzkill; humans flock to this planet like sheep, little playthings that never cease to entertain me.” He places his foot on the other’s chest, biting his lips after a lick. “…And sure tasty as hell.”

In a flash, the three-limbed shikigami lurks to headbutt Gojo off of Nanami, propelling him into the direction of Higuruma, who stands ready with a sword in position for a slash. Gojo notices him in his peripheral and maneuvers to land on the wall beside the older hunter at the last second. “Hm? Hey, you’re new.” The ghoul gives the dark-haired man a punch to the cheek. “How long have you been in the guild, big-nose?” 

“Five months,” Higuruma admits airly as Gojo swerves from the lunges of the steel sword. “But I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“Ehhhh, who woulda thought I was that famous!…Huh?” Something emerges beneath Gojo’s shadow, pulling the demon in and swallowing his body halfway into the wall. “And a shikigami user at that? Heheh, demon hunters might be becoming interesting this time around…” 

Higuruma backs up once Gojo is consumed wholly by his umbra and disappears into the wall. He turns to you, “Is that it? How are we supposed—“

You cut him off. “Get back!”

The spot where the shadow that was once plastered on the wall appears again; this time, the dark shape changes from its black shade into a radiating sky-blue hue. Then, Higuruma backs away, cracks from the glowing tone flourish around the wall, and the old paint withers with ash. “Stay ready,” you warn with your hands coated with energy for whatever comes your way.

A fist emerges from the wall, two hands pulling the spot apart to create a more prominent crater. The fire in the fireplace is sucked inside the glowing hole, and blue horns and silver hair poke out with the torso. “Haaah, being sucked inside your own shadow is suffocating, ya know.” Six mischievous locks on the older hunter responsible for such a sneak attack. “Maybe I should give you a taste of your own medicine, newbie.”

Nanami doesn’t give him a chance, throwing a dagger to penetrate Gojo’s Limitless and pierce his forehead. A cry of pain is expectant yet not given, the creature pulling and discarding the weapon to let the wound heal. With a chuckle, he licks the blood drizzling to his lips. “That wasn’t nice, Nanamin. Be patient and wait for your…turn!” Gojo darts out of the wall with inhumane speed, the sand-haired man barely ricocheting the nails, eager to carve into his skin. Rapid kicks guarded and calculating every move, Nanami does what he can to keep up. Until a punch to his face knocks his goggles off, and a kick to his gut has him projected to another side of the room. 

You clap your hands together, the power within your fingertips emits spider-like strings intertwined, and Gojo stops moving. The right hand comes up and slowly goes down, and Gojo suddenly goes to his knees with his hands up above as if holding – or preventing – something from pushing him onto the floor. “So much for ‘breaking’ me, huh.”

“—Khhh, fuck…” He grouches, trying to writhe from whatever spell you’ve enacted, yet appears more difficult than he figured. “Give me my…powers back, witch!”

“Surrender, now, Gojo Saotru.” Higuruma appears from behind, hailing his sword down to stab the vulnerable target now that he’s under your control.

“F-Fat…fucking chance!”

…Not entirely, though, forgetting one thing that acts with a mind of its own: Gojo’s tail. The thing extends to wrap around Higuruma’s wrists, squeezing painfully hard to throttle him and the weapon to the floor. Then, pupils dim from the glow of Gojo’s Six Eyes, directing onto your frame and blinding you instantly. Fuck! Whether you open or close your eyes, all you can see is the blinding strains of blue eyes that block your vision, your hands coming to your face and undoing the spell. 

“Sorceress!” Higuruma calls out to you, standing up to initiate combat with the demon. Yet, Gojo already appears from behind and hits his nape hard, and the huntsman has no choice but to submit to unconsciousness. But that’s not all; he then grabs the knocked-out man and throws him in your direction. An action you couldn’t foresee and unfortunately got caught up in, unable to enumerate the force of the throw that has both bodies break several walls that lead to an empty room.

Nothing but pain stimulates your senses, aside from the disorienting eyes obstructing your vision slowly fading. You blink frequently, your body aching so much every time you move as you turn to your left where Higuruma’s immobile body lays.

“Hiromi, wake up…Hiromi!” It’s no use; his name isn’t enough to wake him, nor the slaps you pepper on his cheek. “Ghh, of all times to nap…Wake u—“

You hear a sound from the front, your head turning instantly to find a body before you: teleportation! Two fingers press to your forehead, and you, too, become immobile before succumbing to an abrupt rush of sleep. And the last thing you saw was an annoying, insolent grin on the face of a man with horns.

Oh, shit…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Nmm….mmm…”

You awoke to the sound of groaning, eyelids straining to rise. Moving a single muscle in your arm hurts like a bitch, pain permeating throughout tissues and nerves connected. The ringing in your ears begins to disappear, yet nevertheless irksome.

A few blinks ease the bleary eyes, registering that you are not in a familiar setting. The ceiling is easy to make out, and some warm lighting picked up, too. Must be candles. Old paintings, a dresser, and a nightstand — without a doubt, you weren’t in the living area anymore. You are now stuck in what appears to be a bedroom. 

“Ghh…! Ahh, shit…”

That noise again. Turning to your side sluggishly, you see Higuruma’s figure lying parallel to you. “Hiromi,” you whisper to him, his name heard as the man grouses again. You place a hand on his shoulder; his clothing is sullied after being thrown around like you. “Hunter, are you all right?”

“Nnmm, yeah, I’m okay.” He answers, head still processing what has transpired. “Fuck, that was a throw. My head hurts…”

“Yeah, I know, you were knocked cold.” Your head turns to the sides; to your left are the windows that lead to the outside, and a couch sits to your right. “This must be one of the bedrooms of this mansion.”

Higuruma finally opens his eyes. “We’ve been separated from Kento.”

“Yes, and I can’t seem to sense his energy anywhere. Same with yours…” Lips flatten. “Damn it, Satoru must’ve subdued me somehow.”

“Hah, man. This is not how this was—“

“—Mmph! S-Stop, Gojo…!”

“Wh~y? You seem to be enjoying it.”

Two pairs of eyes shot wide at the familiar voices, catching the attention of you and the demon hunter’s eardrums. You two don’t move a single centimeter, allowing the room to respond to your suspicions, and more sounds and noises enter the fray—more…questionable sounds, at that.

You and Higuruma look to the couch, the source of where the voices were coming from, or rather behind it. Slow movements are taken to precaution, the two of you making your way to the furniture to creep and rest your knees away from the hard floor. Slowly lifting your heads, you two investigate what’s concealed by the couch’s camel back.

And what you see is beyond what you had envisaged. 

There’s a bed that stands, and old canopy curtains draped along the wooden frame give it a luxurious appearance. Candles and lanterns are turned on by either bedside, basking a warm glow that goes with the tranquil safety of a bedroom. However, you weren’t alone; two occupants also keep the room company, and they’ve chosen the bed as the safest leisure spot.

What comes to mind when you think of a bed? Sleeping, of course. Possibly a place of rest whenever you come home from a long day’s work. And perhaps, maybe other explicit activities your mind can think of…But something as explicit as seeing a demon giving a demon huntman a blowjob? Hardly foreseeable. 

There’s no mistaking it: the white-haired spirit’s head bobbing up and down was an easy catch, his tail waving from side to side as you picked up muffled moans that were somehow mute to you moments ago. Slurping noises are heard from a distance yet are too erotic of a sound for your ears to expect in this scenario, nonetheless. Nanami’s thighs spread for the ghoul, jerking and fighting to bounce with bitten lips, rosy cheeks, and golden-knitted eyebrows, an expression you never thought you’d seen from such a stoic man as the young man.

Nanami throws his head back, hitting the backboard of the bed. “Hnnmmmshit…Gojo, knock it–ahhaa!!-offff…!” His hands restrained to his back, probably from magic.

Gojo lifts his head and spits on the head of the human male’s cock. “You say that, but look how hard you’re getting,” he strokes the hunter with vigor, the human under his grasp arching his back to the touch. “Damn, who would’ve thought you had something this big; guess that’s expected of a demon hunter, huh.” His tongue laps around the pink glans, climbing to the urethra to tease; Nanami’s legs quiver more. “And look at all this precum…What’s got you all pent up?”

“—Tchhh, fuck, you!” Chocolate eyes hone onto the monster’s figure. “You are what, always giving me more shit to do…Mmmm, can’t stay still in one place…”

“Nope! You, of all people, should know that” he kisses the underside up before claiming the tip for a harsh suck, resulting in a yelp darting out of the blonde’s mouth — you covered your lips. “Besides, isn’t it my job to keep you on your toes, hmm? I’d be making your days pretty boring without me around.”

Nanami observes Gojo retreat his mouth off him, substituting with his hand to stroke the erection to maintain the warmth and friction. The evil spirit draws his face near the hunter’s, all six orbs of his flushed expression, and he scoffs humorlessly. “You call it ‘boring,’ but I’d say any day where I don’t have to deal with the carefree and annoying Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s prominent eyes narrow with an impish glint, and his milky nose brushes with the pink of Nanami’s. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company. Especially with this mood, Na-Na-Min.”

You could not believe what played out before you: Gojo Satoru, one of [if not] the strongest demons to roam, kissing with the phlegmatic, young yet swift hunter, Nanami Kento!?!? Has the stars gone in disarray all of a sudden? Was there some dark omen befalling this hour?? You had no idea, your thoughts going a million miles to reach an adequate conscience. Yet how could you when you’re seeing the two opposites melt into the kiss, transitioning from a sweet peck into a more sinister and indecorous one!? Tongues exchanged within each other’s mouths, moans becoming louder with the increasing pace of Gojo’s hand on the excited hard-on. Such an unintended turn of events, especially for Higuruma — big wide eyes witnessing his subordinate be used.

The older huntsman brings you down to hide; however, the couch is no shield from the auditory commotion. W-What in the—what is the meaning of this? The two were in combat not long ago; how do we switch from a battle to an intimate moment like this? How long was I asleep for? Could Satoru have used something to cause Nanami to act like this? No, he doesn’t use spells like that; that’s more my domain…Unless, could he ha—

Your train of thought is put to a stop when something heavy lands on your right shoulder. Higuruma surprises you unexpectedly, placing his forehead on your shoulder. “Hunter?” You whisper with concern, shaking him by his arm. “Hunter Hiromi, what’s the matter? Are you fe—“

Words stop when you hear a deep inhale, and a shaky exhale exits from Higuruma’s lips. And then another, he turns his face to face where your neck is.

……Did…Did he just sniff me? 

That’s not the weird part, though; the older hunter creeps into an area exposed from your dress’ cold shoulder. Another airy breath steams your skin before you’re met with something cold and hot. He kisses your collarbone slowly; the sensation makes you jump and stiff. 

D-Did he just kiss me?!

“Hiromi?” You probe again, shaking him more. “What’s gotten into—“

“Sorceress,” his voice low to not grab the attention of the other men busy with themselves, yet loud enough for you to notice a behavior change. “My head, it’s…pounding like crazy…”

“Your head? Why, what’s—“ His head goes deeper into the crook of your neck, and your heart nearly leaps out your throat from his lips, kissing you again with a light puff. The contact has you suppress a gasp; your nerves under his mouth are hypersensitive for whatever reason! Okay, what the fuck? “Wh-what’s wrong? Why is your head aching all of a sudden?”

“You…smell so good.”

Wow, that’s not an answer you prepared for, both in mind and body. 

Speaking of body, Higuruma’s hands creep on your frame, his left glides to your shoulder to hold – the calloused pads of his fingertips send shivers up your spine – and his right comes to wrap your waist, pulling you closer to him. And he begins to pepper your reactive skin with more kisses, sucking the flesh with a pucker after a lick. The soft smacks of his lips get wetter, and heat from your cheeks is more complicated to avoid.

“Hunter Hiromi…! Snap out of i—Ohhmm!!” Your lips clench to halt the yelp, almost jumping out of your esophagus. Fuck, why am I so fucking sensitive!? Hushed complaints fell on deaf ears, Higuruma still latching his lips onto your warm skin to suck. 

It was then you looked at your bag positioned at the exact spot you were unconscious with the huntsman, tiny valves you stored sprawled out of their organized system. Then, you notice one shattered, pink liquid exuding to the floor burns into gas that fades with the atmosphere. You’re familiar with the potion you see, and your confusion switches to utter dread.

Before leaving on this mission with the huntsmen, you specifically remember telling your witch-in-training, Miwa, to stock up on your mini potions within your bag for defense. Knowing how ditzy that young, blue-haired witchling can be, she probably thought you meant every glass you had — no wonder the shit was a little heavier than usual! 

Finally, it all begins to click: the flush of Nanami’s cheeks, Gojo’s unexpected sexuality, Higuruma’s demeanor switch, and your nerves acute at every touch — you got to be fucking kidding me!  That broken vial was an aphrodisiac harboring a musk so strong it could bring down a humongous orc within minutes, a spell you had crafted for a customer only for your witchling to misplace it. Now, you’re here reaping the consequences in the worst situation possible! How did it break in the first place?! It could be from when you were thrown through multiple walls and went tumbling to the ground, the effects taking fruition when Gojo knocked you out earlier. 

And to make matters worse, you’re not the only one undergoing this; three men now act like absolute horndogs because of this mistake, taking this mission to a complete 180° turn. Just when you thought this task was difficult enough, a curveball such as this throws you off. Unbelievable!

“For crying out loud,” you curse under your breath. “Hiromi, try to fight it! This isn’t—“ he kisses up your neck to your chin, and your attempts to push him off are weaker the closer he inches. Muscles tense when the hand to your waist glides to the crevice of your bottom — and a twitch between your legs. “Stop! Now is not the ti—Mmnn!” He cusps the flesh of your asscheek, bringing the other hand down to grope your ass. Holy Christ, “N-N, wait! Don’t touch it like…Haahhh.” Fuck these damn aphrodisiac effects! 

“Fuck, you smell so fucking good, sorceress,” Higuruma inhales your scent brazenly. “That perfume is driving me nuts.” His fingers are hungrier as they fondle your butt, forcing you to rock your hips with his rhythm. The huntsman comes to your ear; his hot breath brushing the lobe causes your skin to crawl. And then he gives it a lick, and you jump. 

“F–For Christ’s sake!” Your heartbeat hammers your chest. “Don’t do that, I’m sensitive…!” He doesn’t listen, lathering your ear with more licks and kisses. It sounds so erotic; his groans up close to your propinquity that you don’t know what to think right now. The heat between your thighs gets intolerable, imbuing your lower region more and more. “Don’t lick iiit…Ahaah…”

The both of you mesh together in each other’s warmth, Higuruma’s touches growing bolder to prompt you to bite down and stop your moans from getting louder. Your hands are still on his chest, yet exhibit not that much of a push, allowing the man to do as he wishes to make your brain turn into mush. Before you know it, his hands find the slits of your dress and meet bare skin, and you gasp at his calloused fingers ravaging your pantie-covered butt. Fingernails dig as he roughly kneads your rear muscles, silent screams pulled out of your body. 

“Ughh, I can’t,” he speaks softly. “I can’t stop. I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, but” before you know it, his weight adds onto you and forces you to lie on your back. Great, now you’re really stuck under him. “I just can’t…you smell way too good. And you taste so good, too,” he peppers your cheek with a smooch just centimeters away from the corner of your lips. “God, you taste too good; it’s like I’m addicted.”

“Hahh–H-Hunter, not here…We shouldn’t—“

“No, stop,” Higuruma finally lifts his face; your field of vision met with glassy, hooded eyes and furrowed brows. Strands of his onyx hair fell out of its pushed-back form and stuck to the beads of sweat on his forehead, and a flush of red cascaded from one ear to the other. He’s heaving so desperately — as composure stands out, he looks awful! “Keep calling me…by my name.”

Your breath hitches as his face draws closer. “Hi–Hiromi,” and closer. “Hiro—Ohh!—…miii.” His knee meets the area between your legs, pushing onto where your underwear guards your chasm. And the thought that a potential wet spot might be protruding is embarrassing to think about. 

“Good girl,” he praises, lips hovering tantalizingly over yours. “Good girl…”

Finally, after many teases all over your body, Higuruma places his lips over yours to claim. The kiss ignites a fire, instantly combusting within your nervous system and leaving you hot. The heat inside your panties worsens and has you writhing under him, hands grabbing onto the back of his black undershirt as he pushes his face into you more.

He drinks your squeaks, and his tongue slithers on your bottom lip, nibbling on it to evoke more helpless whimpers. “So sweet,” he mummers. “You taste so sweet, baby…”

Baby!? You had to be dreaming, your heart beating way too fast under these conditions, and your cunt spasming involuntarily. I can’t give in to this potion, I can’t…! 

You chant these words internally, yet you can’t stop the quirks of your inner walls as Higuruma pushes his tongue to your teeth. It wasn’t suspected, your mouth opening up in surprise, not knowing that was exactly what the older huntsman wanted for him to intrude into your oral cavity with his wet muscle. You gasp aloud, the sensation of his moist tongue swirling around your mouth and dancing with yours tightens the grip on his shirt.

At this point, everything is happening all at once. You don’t realize your resilience slipped as you whine underneath the man’s bow, heads turning to stay locked with each other’s lips as the pecks grow prurient by the second. Your hips sway to and fro on their own, alongside Higuruma’s, as his hips rock to your tempo. Your legs came around his waist to keep him close, too enamored by him sucking your tongue to even notice.

Then, all of a sudden, something sneaks inside your dress and ventures south and pushes the damp spot of your underwear into your leaking cunt. Electric shocks shoot to your head, and it takes everything in your power not to scream. “—Thhh!! F-Fffaahhh…!! Hi-Hiromi, what are you—“

“Holy shit, I didn’t know how wet you were down here,” A finger presses down into the area, and more liquids flood out of your opening and expand the dampness. “Damn. It’s so hot.”

“Noo, stop it, don’t touch—“ the forefinger swipes up and down and gets swallowed by your clothed outer labia. Your legs quiver, “I’m too sensitized right now! If you keep touching me, you’re gonna–Aahhh!” He brushes your clitoris; oh, this is very bad. “I’m gonna break…!”

“Oh? But I can feel you aching under my fingertips,” he adds his middle finger to circle your slit, the movements tortuous to endure. “Doesn’t it hurt if I leave you just hot and twitchy like this? Don’t you want me to ease it?” You can’t reply, too distracted from his digits, pushing your underwear aside for them to feel the raw flesh of your bareness. “I think you do; don’t you feel how crazy you’re wanting my fingers inside you right now?”

“Stop saying that! It’s embarrassing…! Mmoohh…” Higuruma skims around the split of your vagina, and your breathing gets heavier. “—Nnnmm, fuck, it’s so hooot…”

He kisses your cheek and the corner of your lips. “It’s okay, baby, I got you…” He speaks so low you could melt. “Just relax for me, okay?”

You only reply to him with another passionate kiss, being way more receptive than the last by shoving your tongue into his. The hunter takes this to advantage and patiently pushes his middle finger into your slit. You whine at the insertion, mouth agape as the entire digit nestles inside your warmth. Higuruma instantly greets you with scrapes against your inner texture, the blunt of his fingertip itching your walls to the point of your toes curling.

The haze increases, coherent thoughts turn into fog, and your senses are overwhelmed by the lower commotion. You suck on Higuruma’s tongue with a hum, descending to the wiggle of his finger migrating your insides. Jesus Christ, it felt so good. Was it real, or was it because of the effects of the aphrodisiac, making every fiber of your body hypersensitive? Regardless, you can’t deny how enrapturing it is to have him ease your itch.

Once he adds his ring finger into your wet cavern, you grab hold of his shoulders as both digits push into you until they’re knuckles deep. “Oohhh, ohhhmyG—Hiromi, Hiro!” His name is the only thing that feels easy to blubber out. “I can’t, it feels so good…Ohhh, right there, please…”

“Yeah, you like it when I do this?” He curls both fingers to graze your upper wall, and you jolt upward. “Or…this?” He stretches them apart in a scissor motion, and you nearly choke on your spit.

“Sh-Shtop it,” you croak. “I’ll cum, I’ll fucking cummm!!” The chuckle you hear from above is smooth like honey, unable to fight the twitch of your walls. 

“Go on, cum on my fingers, sorceress,” he coaxes. “And then I’ll go right between your legs, strip that underwear off, and lick you down for making such a mess on me until you’re sore and want nothing but my dick.”Ho. Ly. Shit. “You hear me?” You nod hurriedly, earning another short laugh. “Then cum, sweetie.” Higuruma increases the flick of his fingers, shoving them inside you as deep and fast as he can to where you don’t know how to contain your choked sobs. He gives you his lips again to quiet and calm you down while he effortlessly caresses your velvety channel.

Nonstop motions prompt you to buck your hips and arch your back until you feel as though you’re falling from a peak. Inner muscles spasm erratically around the hunter’s digits, legs tensing up with tremors, and your wails taken by Higuruma, who moans lovingly along with you. Your frame jerks to him with every wave of your climax, and shocks clatter up to make you dizzy and foggy. 

“Mm, there you go, darling,” Higuruma coos before placing a chaste peck on your forehead, removing his fingers from you to see them coated in the fresh slick you’ve gushed. “So good.”

“Wow, what a show!”

Suddenly, the lukewarm feelings soothed around your figure abruptly halt once a new voice shatters you and Higuruma back to reality. Your eyes leave each other and look up to find six on your close-knitted bodies, blue orbs glued onto you two as if to examine you exceptionally near. 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Gojo waves a hand. “Please go on~.”Higuruma is the first to make a move, but a firm grip catches his wrist, throws him into the air fluidly, and lands on the bed with no grace. “Not what I meant, newbie.”

“Satoru!” You try to slap him, but he grabs your wrist as well. “What are you doing—“

“Uhh, shouldn’t I be asking you the same question, witch?” He brings his face close. “I never took you, so stoic and all business, for a bit of pervert. If I knew you sounded cute and desperate having your pussy teased with, I’d have you wrapped my finger a long time ago.”

“Tah, I’m the pervert? You seemed to enjoy stuffing your face with Kento’s dick. Quite good at it yourself; is that your favorite sport? Something you like to do when you’re not terrorizing towns?”

“What, don’t know what it looks like to have a good time? And not to point fingers, but let’s not forget your potion has us all like this.”

You grimace. “Maybe don’t throw people at about five walls, or something will break!”

“Maybe don’t bring such powerful erotic potions to a battle, and we wouldn’t have that problem! But don’t worry,” Gojo then lifts you off the couch in bridal style. “You’ll take responsibility.”Before you could argue back, the evil spirit teleports you two back to the bed where he primarily was. Now, four bodies lay on the huge old yet soft mattress, all under the potion’s spell, and share a mutual lustful atmosphere. “How long does this aphrodisiac last?”

“…Two hours max.”

“Well, you’ve been knocked out for nearly thirty minutes. So, while we still have the time,” he pushes you off him to where Higuruma lies. “Why don’t you help these two with your mishap?”

“It was an accident—“

“Aye, an accident that now has Mister Big-Nose over here hard as a rock.” You look down to where Gojo’s pointing and see a tent jutting out of Higuruma’s pants. Your lips flatten at the sight, same with the owner of the boner. “Why the faces? What happened to all that talk about eating them out?”

“T-That wasn’t what—“

“Oh c’mon, newbie, you sure ‘bout that? Look,” Gojo maneuvers to where you sit and picks up a leg, moving your dress out of the way and removing your panties to discard. And now, your wet and sticky cunt is out for the men to see. Good Lord, Satoru!! “Look at how wet you made them feel back there; they were really excited about how good you made them feel. And I’m sure they look forward to your handsome face sitting in between their juicy legs.”

Had the silence been longer than a few seconds, you would’ve told Gojo off and left the other be. But the sound of an unbuckled belt is heard as you observe Higuruma sliding his pants down and revealing the erect limb free. The sight of precum sliding down the angry pink tip down to his balls is brain-altering. He then loosens his shirt, letting his stomach breathe, and your eyes catch the raven-happy trail from above his lower abs down to his pubes. Holy absolute fuck.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Gojo pushes you further. “There’s a nice face waiting to be sat!”

“Shut up!” You wish to throw curses at him all you want. However, you crawl to where Higuruma’s face is crooked and sheepishly lift your dress to place your knees and align yourself. “Please…forgive me, Hiromi.”

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” your heart skips at the nickname and his hands finding your waist. “Nice and slow, okay?”

You listen to his command and slowly descend your hips to Higuruma’s face, toes quirking at the brush of his noise hitting your taint. A sharp gasp leaves your lips when his tongue greets your labia, swishing around to intake the nectar dripping out of it. “Ohhh, shit…” You hum as he groans, your hips having a mind of their own and swerving around, yet the man beneath doesn’t fail to latch his lips onto you, his hands now curling to your butt.

A hand finds its way to where his erection stands tall, your fingers circling the shaft before motioning up and down. More excessive cum escapes out the urethra to paint your fingernails and tips, veins pulsing against your palm as you jerk him off. He then laments when your free hand cups his balls to massage, kneading one of the testicles gingerly like rough dough. 

From your peripheral, you spot Nanami coming into view, and you cry out when his peer sticks his tongue into your opening and slurps. “Kento.”

“Sorry,” the blonde man stands in front of you while fisting his cock. “Might need your help here…”

You titter, hearing him sigh heavily as you bend down and blow on his cockhead. “May I?” He nods to you and caresses your cheek, guiding your lips to take in his tip and gradually swallow his inches. You suck him in till your mouth is busy with his length, moving your tongue around the underside, which makes Nanami hiss.

“Hahhh, fuck, yes, love,” you hear him from up above, his hands coming to your head to maintain while he jerks his hips into your mouth. His balls meet your chin with every push, and his musk is all that attacks your nostrils. The fog in your head makes you dizzier and dizzier, humming on the dick you’re swallowing.

And you can’t forget the snow-haired person who brings his hand to your chest area and rips the seams open. Your breasts are now out and exposed to the open air, and a nipple finds its way onto the flat of a reptile-like tongue. “Awww, cupcake, you’ve been hiding these tits from me, too? Heh, not fair…”

The only sounds that you can pick up are all raunchy, squelching noises from between your legs, slopping wet cues as you slurp on cock, and Gojo’s moans as he sucks and plays with your breasts. If you thought things were overwhelming earlier, you’re sure as hell finding yourself drowning in your senses. Gojo nibbles on your nipples, his teeth grazing the buds, and have your thighs jolt. Meanwhile, Higuruma’s hands keep your asscheeks glued to him as he drinks up more of your essence while pushing his tongue into your slit, fucking your insides for more fluids to coat his tastebuds.

Nanami’s hip work dials up to a faster tempo, stuffing your face with more of his cock to the point that he hits the back of your throat frequently. Your eyes start to water as you begin to taste the salty precum lathering with your spit. Yet you slurp on him with a whine, sucking harshly onto the top, where you push your tongue to the split of his urethra to toy with. 

The sand-haired man throws his head back. “—Khhfff, fuck,” his head pounding while you dance your wet muscle around the crown of his shaft and frenulum. “Ohhhh, Goddamn it…! Just like that, my love, like that…”You listen to Nanami’s requests and continue, your hand stroking faster onto Higuruma’s cock with vigor. 

“Very good, you three, very good…” Gojo eggs you on, removing his face from your chest and tapping your cheek to release the girth. “Now it’s time to switch it up.”The ghoul then pushes Nanami onto his back; this time, you’re straddling him while Gojo urges Higuruma to straighten up. “Nanami’s been such a nice guy, huh? Why not reward him with a taste of what this newbie was feasting on, cutie?” 

Your eyes travel down to where Nanami’s cock is pressed to your belly, and you lift your ass and grab him to kiss your folds with his glans. You both share a look and whimper aloud as his tip makes it inside your vagina, thanks to your come, and you leisurely drop your ass onto him. “Hoooh, fuck, feels so good…!” You shrill, and your hips begin to go to and fro.

“And as for you,” Higuruma groans as Gojo takes hold of him and aligns his glans to your ass. “Fuck them good here, got it?”

The raven-haired man’s hands meet your buttcheeks, and you go ahead and bend down for him to get the full view. “Damn,” he gulps. Before doing anything, Higuruma moistures his fore and middle fingers with his spit and circles around your asshole gently until they get past the puckered sphincter. You remind yourself to relax as he readies your ass, his fingertips pushing in and out to adjust the cavern for what’s to come. And after a minute, he pulls them out and substitutes them for his ready member, and you scream in mute as he pushes himself into your rear end. “Oh, fuck, fuck!” He swears with a bitten lip. “So tight…Hahhh…feel so good, darling.” 

The two human men rock into your holes simultaneously, having your frame join with the cadence they inflict to follow. Both your holes are ravished, Nanami’s dick turning your insides into goo with every graze to your sweet spots, and you almost shut down from the occasion of surprise pokes of your cervix. The man behind you plows your butt with purpose, shoving his member deep into your rear channel and rubbing on the walls that have you unable to fight the drool escaping.

And last but not least, Gojo grabs your chin and pushes his tip to your puffy lips. “Hey, baby. Mind I have a turn with those lips of yours?”You roll your eyes with a smile before curling your tongue around his crown and taking it inside your lips. The demon sighs under your lips, bucking his hips impatiently for you to suck every inch of him. “Fucking—Nnnmm! Your tongue…Gggahh!!”

All three men go wild in your grasp. Nanami’s pace slips to an erratic fashion, rutting deep with accurate rubs to your G-spot that leave you mumbling onto Gojo’s dick. Higuruma nearly loses himself while pistoning his pelvis to your ass, his forehead coming to your shoulder to rest. “Christ, your ass is driving me crazy.” He kisses the space between your shoulder and neck and bites down. You cry and suck on Gojo’s cock harshly, making the demon hiss above you. 

“—Uugghh, so tight!” Nanami grabs your waist with firm hands and drills himself upward faster. “Fuck it, I need to cumm…!!”

“Me too, Kento—shit—me too…” His older peer slurs, burrowing his face into your neck to lick and nibble on your skin. “Almost..there….!”

It isn’t long before all three men come at you with a unioned tempo, and you’re way too engrossed in the sensations to notice how wet you’re getting from the constant pleasures. Your frame is used as their plaything as they fuck your holes, borderline degrading, yet you can’t deny how good they feel for relieving the horny itch you’re feeling. Fuck! More, more, more!! Continuous rough ruts to your chasms and mouth have you numb, and your scream is muffled as Gojo grabs for your face to bury his cock deep into your throat as he dispenses his load into you.

Nanami and Higuruma aren’t far from joining him, too, the two climaxing simultaneously and filling you to the brim with their white, thick essence. Groans bounce off each other and the bedroom walls; three bodies pant heavily and heave above and beneath you, as they experience the peak of their crescendos. And after a few more thrusts and jerks, they soon allow themselves to slide down from their high.

The huntsmen from behind take his cock out of your ass, a string of his cum still linking to your puckered hole. Now, with him off, you swallow down the last of Gojo’s semen before withdrawing your face and raising your hips off of Nanami’s dick. 

Gojo comes to you to place his forehead on your sweat one. “Holy shit, that was good,” he praises as he cups your cheeks to squish them. “That’s one way to take me down. But, are ya ready to let me fuck that pretty cunt of yours?”You don’t say anything, just grabbing his chin to lure him into a kiss, which he anticipates…

…However, he doesn’t meet your lips as expected. Instead, while he’s distracted, you sneak a hand to the chain that wrings around your neck. A locket that you open the pendant to grab for a tablet and quickly shove it inside Gojo’s mouth. Six eyes widen as you cover his mouth shut, forcing him to swallow whatever it is that’s inside his oral cavity. 

And before he has the idea of pushing you off and overpowering you, Nanami is quick to grab hold of his arms and restrict them to his back. Higuruma takes his lesson from earlier and grabs Gojo’s tail before it goes around, making people fly off. It takes a group effort; however, the freakish devil’s strength weakens in seconds, and his eyes roll until the lids fall over. Slumber hits the creature, unconscious both in mind and body, as his figure slumps on Nanami’s chest. The blonde hunter gently places the white-haired being down as you all watch him fall into a deep sleep.

“Finally,” you exclaim and let your body fall to the mattress in exhaustion. And the other huntsmen do the same. “For God’s sake….”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Thank you again for your help, demon hunters!”

“Yes, we don’t know what we could’ve done without you two.”

“You two make the demon hunter guild proud; may Yaga recognize the talent laid after his years!”

The rain was long gone, exchanging its grey clouds with the gleaming shine of the sun and the vibrant blue of the sky. Everyday life finds its way back into the swing of things now that things are not in turmoil. And to close a mission down on a sunny day seems like a reasonable bid for closure.

Coming from your lair deep into the woods – after scolding your witchling, Miwa, for that aphrodisiac potion accident of hers and cooking a contraceptive tea – you walked toward the town to appear before the demon guild. Eyes and leers of the common folk linger onto you as you make your steps amongst them, ignoring their unconcealed judgment. Of course, it makes you uncomfortable that discrimination follows you every which way, especially after lending aid to the demon problem they so desperately needed. But alas, you didn’t come here for recognition, so you continue to walk until you reach the wooden tavern-like building.

At the front, you find a pair of familiar faces — Nanami and Higuruma — conversing with a local townswoman who thanks the huntsmen for their service. Neither party seems to notice your appearance the moment you tread closer to the front. Which is fine; again, you’re not here for celebration or acknowledgment. You’re so used to being cast aside that it practically feels innate.

That is, until you spot something beside the woman, a smaller being glued to her hip. A child, you pick up: a little boy with raven spiky hair similar to a sea urchin and slim yet puffy cheeks signature to a toddler. And his blueish green eyes are honed in on you unmistakably. It’s a bit of a funny image to see a tiny human be bold enough to look at you yet still hide their presence behind the shadow of their guardian. Whims of a child, you suppose.

The woman bows to the men with gratitude before heading off in business, only to stop in her tracks once she sees you. And to your surprise, she beams a smile. She is undoubtedly the child’s mother – her unkept hair proving hereditary. “You must be the sorceress, right?” She inquires, and you answer with a silent nod. “Good, because I wanted to come express my thanks to you and the huntsmen for having to take down that demon for our sakes! I imagine it wasn’t easy, nor was it something you wished to be burdened with.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” you shook your head as the woman bowed to you. “The demon and I have had multiple encounters before, and I’m the nearest person outside of town who’s well-versed in the demon realm and beyond. So, it’s only natural that I’d be pulled in to help the cause somehow.”

The townswoman nods along to your explanation, her smile still present. “Regardless, you did save this small city of ours. I don’t know how to thank you properly for your service, but I hope you know I am sincerely grateful you lent your prowess along with the hunters.” 

“Your gratitude is well-taken. I ask that you try to stay far from trouble and be safe and vigilant.”

“Yes, I understand…And you, Megumi,” you both turn to the child you sensed observing you during the entire conversation. “Don’t you have anything you wish to say to the sorceress who saved our home?”

Quiet, the vibe you get from the silent kid who keeps his eyes on you as if you’re a stranger. Typical behavior of a child. He slowly comes behind his mother and pulls something out of his pocket. With delicacy and steadiness, his balled fist points to where you stand, and you decide to crouch down and extend a hand to him to place something.

“…Is this for me?” You ask. In your palm lies a green four-leafed plant, a clover. Not crumpled or torn in any way, ideally in its original form, and you could tell it was treated with care—a gift.

Megumi gives a curt nod. “I went to the fields yesterday with my sister and found some four-leaf clovers. Mama said they give good luck and protection to those with them. I gave one each for the hunters, so I saved this one for you.”

You have to be honest: you’re not one to gift-give in your profession. Hell, you’re not even accustomed to being handed gifts, either! It’s a custom foreign to you as you’re deemed as an outcast in many eyes of this town. Gratitude or hospitality isn’t something you’d expect from anywhere…But it seems that is different in a child’s world, for you can tell his heart is in a genuine place.

With a smile, you bring the clover to where your necklace sits above your chest. Muttering an incantation, the plant glows and disintegrates itself and is absorbed by the pendant of your locket. “Now, I’ll be sure to have good luck wherever I go, thanks to you, little one.”The young boy’s eyes flashed with wonder from your minuscule display of magic, flashing an awkward yet confident smile as you stood upright and bowed to him and his mother. “Be safe and strong for your sister and mother, Megumi.”

The child nods to your words before you bid his mother farewell, and the two spiky-headed ones walk by to wherever they came from, leaving you to the matters you initially intended to take care of.

Speaking of matters, “Sorceress,” you turn to find the huntsmen walking to greet you. Nanami is the first to talk, “You came in just in time. He’s awake now but still experiencing some grogginess.”

Higuruma adds on. “And we made sure to call him up to appear today, so things should be going smooth this time around, as you said.”

“Good,” you reply. “Thank you for your cooperation on this mission, hunters. The townpeople can return sleeping soundly now that Gojo isn’t around to cause a ruckus.”

“No, we should be thanking you.” The sand-haired man interjects. “Yaga had spoken highly of you and your professionalism during the handful of times you two had worked together. Without you, dealing with Gojo would’ve been more of a hassle I’d want to deal with.”

“Kento’s right,” the dark-headed one agrees. “Weapons and shikigami aren’t enough to bring down a strong demon lord such as Gojo; we needed as much help as possible. And it was an honor to see you in action for myself.”

“I thank you, gentlemen,” you say with downcasted eyes. “However, I apologize that it was on my bad that the situation went to a more…ridiculous turn,” you peer to see that the two men avoid your gaze at the nuanced mention. “Nevertheless, we can put this behind us and not bring it up with anyone else. Agreed?”

The two men nod concurrently.

“And, perhaps…If the wind finds me at the right time and you two wish to work together again, I would…consider it a little more lenient the next time.” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that because now you can barely look at the two huntsmen in the eyes. For crying out loud, you’ve seen each other naked; how can you ever work with each other again after such unprofessional circumstances?

But you guess they don’t seem to find a problem with it, seeing as they both share a smile at you. “Thank you, sorceress.” The older male speaks for both of them. “We hope to see you again when requiring your assistance.”

The younger hunter nods with soft brown eyes. “It would be wise to lend you a helping hand just as our former leader did for you.”

And for the second time today, a tiny smile returns to curling your lips before you straighten yourself up. 

“Well, until then, what should we do with you, Gojo Satoru?”

Although the expressions of thanks and appreciation served as a pleasant stratum to begin the day, a conflict still needed to be solved. That is why the three of you walked inside, deep into the demon hunter’s guild, past the many hunters who watched you make your way to the hall at the back of the building. Many rooms are stationed to the right side, yet only one harbors a recognizable aura for you to trot in front of and open the door when no one is looking.

Lo and behold, the sole being in this cell-like room is Gojo Satoru, the ghoul sitting on the dirty ground with chains restricting his feet and wrists. Talismans with small writing decorated his biceps, shoulders, and abdomen, the mark of your subjugation as his power isn’t as high as before. It is positioned at a level where it occasionally bursts until it returns to a low steady.

“You tell me, witch,” the demon answers your question. “We’ve had this dance a million times already, sending me back to the demon realm and supposedly ‘promising’ not to come back.”

“Well, you are being sent back this time,” Nanami crosses his arms. “Yet instead of ‘supposedly,’ we’re going to have to make that a definitive.”

Gojo cackles, bearing his canines to shine. “Oh, bullshit. Me staying in the realm ‘forever’ forever when I’m aware that half of my Limitless has been stripped from my possession? Don’t you know you should never touch what belongs to a demon; whatever is taken from me might be taken from you tenfold.”

“That’s why there are demon hunters in the first place,” Higuruma sighs and slumps on the door surface. “Your powers were taken under contract after the carnage you caused last time. Judging by how we handle you this time, you might lose the other half of your Limitless.”

“This has nothing to do with you, big-nose.” Gojo retorts. “If I weren’t chained up right now, you’d be the first to jump at.”

The hunter raises a brow. “Is that a threat?”

“Perhaps. Although…” devilish lips curl to a smirk. “After what happened last night, maybe I’ll have some fun with you and Nanamin one of these days if—“

“Satoru.” You cut him off, the conversation steering to where it’s not supposed to go. Higuruma takes the white-haired spirit’s words for thought and stands up straight with more alertness, his blonde subordinate fixing his glare on the same. “If it weren’t for your status and relations with this realm, your fate would’ve been handled differently. Be thankful that it was me and the hunter guild who had to deal with you this time; anyone else would have your head on a spike and your body torched.”

“Awww, what caring babysitters you guys are~,” Six blue eyes roll in one direction with a click of their teeth. “Oi, witch, you know it doesn’t matter what you do with me. I could be thrown off the grid, shackled to the demon realm, held in some dark supernatural prison, or even killed — no matter what, as long as you’re the holder of half my powers, I will find you. And I don’t care if it means ripping your pretty face to shred; I’m getting my Limitless and Infinity back.” Eyes gleam with a fury, like ocean waves in a wayward thunderstorm. “Believe that.”

“I do believe it. And I will wait for the day you learn to find me, not vice versa.”You take his threat with earnestness. “However, until that day comes, I will reprimand you for this case. Along with the help of an old friend of ours.”

He sucks his teeth. “And who would that be?”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!!

Gojo’s ears perked before the harsh bangs were put on the wooden door. You pan to Higuruma, who nods silently before he turns to unlock the locks and grip the handle. With the pull, a silhouette befalls into a vision of all four occupants in the room. A tall, muscular man who appears to be in his forties minimum, head-shaven except for the spiky top, adorning a wolf pet over his shoulders with leather slashes. Gojo’s six eyes widen when he sees the man’s face: the familiar thick eyebrows sitting above minor yet dominant eyes and a mustache and goatee adorned on the chin.

“W-Well, hello there, Yagaaa~,” the snow-haired being switches his demeanor to a chipper tune now that a new visitor has come to pay a visit. “What a lovely surprise to see you! You clean up nicely. Is that a ring I see on your finger—“

“Gojo Satoru.” A guttural voice puts a stop to the ramble. “Last time I saw you, I put you in a chokehold that had you screaming for your mama and promised I’d put you in another worse than that the next time I see you.”

You can sense the demon’s aura dwindle like a tiny flame, and you can’t help but find amusement; no one better to put the ghoul back into his place than Masamichi Yaga, the seasoned, skillful, and former commander of the demon guild. “Is…today the day?”

“Hmph.” The older man pulls up a chair to sit in front of Gojo. “Possibly, yet the sorceress pleaded for your case and told me to withhold until after our discussion.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Miss Sorceress!” Now he wants to shower you with affection; whatever happened to that threat he made a minute ago? “That’s nice to know because I have a lot I would like to get off my chest before you sta—BHROOOF!!” Gojo’s cut off from a swift kick to the chin Yaga inflicts, causing him to fly to hit his head on the wall and fall to his back. “OWWWW?!!!??!!! What was that for?!”

“For bringing me out of my retirement,” Yaga cracks his neck with a heavy sigh. “You little bastard.”

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by tamayura banko + dividers by @cafekitsune.

[minisugakoobies]

Yours for the Night | HHJ

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, frenemies to lovers, Model!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: so. much. cockiness from Hyunjin, arguing as a form of foreplay, a bit of dumbification, what's a little fucking between frenemies?, dick pics, exhibitionism, nipple play, mentions of slut shaming, grinding, fingerfucking, pinching, just a tiny bit of spit, unexpected use of pet names, oral sex (f receiving), wet and messy, biting, dirty talk, maybe a little degradation (talking about reader being cock stupid), unprotected sex (bc used), riding/cowgirl style, praise/use of "good girl," soft dom!hyunjin vibes, rough/hard sex, multiple positions, creampie, multiple orgasms Word Count: 8.8k Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me Summary: “Let me lay it out for you, so there’s no misunderstanding. If you can stop pretending for five seconds that you don’t want me the way I want you, you can have me tonight.” Or, Hyunjin makes you an offer you simply can't refuse.

A/N: I finished this earlier than expected, thanks to the inspiration that is Hyunjin at Milan Fashion Week. Have you seen him?? 🥵 Anyway, it's all because of his stunning beauty that this filthy lil pwp exists. Enjoy! 😘

Unbeta'd as usual. I would *love* to hear your thoughts - my inbox is always open (anon is on, but hateful comments will be blocked. Be kind, writers do this for free and with love!) 💕

SKZ Masterlist

 It’s Friday night, you’re out for drinks with your friends, and you are frustrated.

It’s not the club that’s bothering you. You’re here tonight at Felix’s request. He’d told you all it had been too long since you’d gone out as a group, so all nine of you and your friends crammed yourselves into a couple of rides and headed for downtown. 

Nor is it the incredibly tight, short, and backless dress you’ve poured yourself into that’s annoying you, though it’s certainly not helping. Your fingers anxiously grasp at the hem, tugging it down your thighs as you take a seat at the table where Felix and Seungmin are currently talking.

No, it’s something personal that has you wound tighter than a corset tonight. Work has been kicking your ass lately, and it’s put a huge damper on your sex life. You haven’t been out with anyone new in the last few months. Haven’t had any time to reach out to any of your small group of casual hookups who would typically lend a hand. Most nights you’ve even been too tired to masturbate. 

Put simply, you’re ready to fucking pop. 

Which is why you’re wearing this bodybinding dress and staring at the dance floor like a wildcat stalking its prey, searching to find someone to help you with your problem. Unfortunately, you’ve been here for hours, and no one’s caught your eye so far. 

Your clutch rattles on the table, drawing your attention. Everyone who would usually text you is here, so out of curiosity, you take out your phone. The notification tells you that Hyunjin sent you a photo. 

You glance across the room at where Hyunjin is sitting in a booth with Changbin, deep in conversation. Why would he send you a photo right now?

Your confusion only grows when you look at the photo. It’s a selfie, Hyunjin raising his champagne glass in a toast to the camera, perfectly tousled dark hair spilling over his brow as he fixes you with his signature smirk. It’s a gorgeous shot, of course, because he’s a gorgeous man, but again, why is he sending you selfies in the middle of tonight’s celebration? Or at all? Hyunjin’s never been the type to send you photos before, of himself or the group or anything. 

He’s never really been the type to text you, period, outside of the group chat. Probably because the two of you aren’t really friends. Frenemies would be more accurate. You share the same group of friends, but have nothing else in common. Which is fine, you don’t have to be close to hang out, but he’s… well… he’s an acquired taste, and you’ve never developed an appreciation. Hyunjin’s snooty and cocky - overly so, in your opinion, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Most of your conversations consist of nothing but arguing. He’s very stubborn and loves to get the last word in on everything. Which drives you crazy because you prefer to have the final say. 

So to say this sudden selfie has you perplexed is an understatement.

Ignoring whatever Felix and Seungmin are talking about, you fire off a question. 

You: What is this? Hyunjin: Are you that drunk? It’s me

Reflexively, you scowl at your screen.

You: I know it’s you You: But WHY are you sending me a photo of yourself? Hyunjin: You’ve been staring at me all night Hyunjin: I thought maybe you’d like something to take home, to keep

Again, you look over, only to find him looking at you, lips curled to match his photo. Heat flames through you. Could he be more conceited? 

Maybe the vanity isn’t totally unearned, considering that he’s an actual model, making a living using his ethereal beauty to sell products. His own lifestyle is just as luxurious as the images he appears in. Like right now, he’s wearing the finest black suit, obviously couture, with a few silver necklaces draped over his tie that you’ve no doubt cost more than your entire outfit alone. 

And sure, he has a jawline carved by the gods, thick eyebrows that frame expressive, cat-like eyes, and ridiculously pouty lips that you’ve found yourself staring at once… an hour on average. Maybe in your weakest moments you’ve even dreamt about what it would be like to kiss those lips. 

But does that mean he has to be a dick all the time?

You: You’re such an ass Hyunjin: Deny it all you want, but we both know you can’t keep your eyes off me Hyunjin: Not that I blame you You: It’s amazing your head still fits through doors Hyunjin: You’d be the first to notice if it didn’t

Your nostrils flare. No matter what you say, he always flips it back on you. Admittedly, you are a little tipsy, so you’re not fully on your game, but it’s still annoying as fuck. And right now, you really don’t need another reason to be frustrated.

You: Whatever, Hyunjinnie

You cast another glance at Hyunjin, delighting in the way he frowns at your response. He hates it when you call him that.

You take a moment to locate the rest of your friends. Changbin’s still sitting with Hyunjin. Jeongin and Chan are doing shots at the bar. Minho and Jisung are in their own little world on the dance floor, arms draped around one another. Neither Felix nor Seungmin seemed to have noticed that you have dropped out of their discussion. Part of you feels guilty for ignoring them, but, well, you’re a little fired up now, and the only thing that would make you feel better would be getting the last word in with Hyunjin for once.

You take a sip of your cocktail, floating the cold liquid on your tongue as you devise your next line of attack, when your phone buzzes again. 

Hyunjin: I have another photo for you You: Why? Hyunjin: Because I think you’d like it You: Oh really? Like you know what I like Hyunjin: Always so argumentative Hyunjin: You’re pretty easy to figure out Hyunjin: The staring makes it incredibly obvious

Such an ass.

You: Fuck off Hyunjin: I will not You: What’s your game, man? Hyunjin: No game Hyunjin: Can’t I just do something nice for you?

The man is a riddle. An enigma draped in Versace. 

You type out “I guess there’s a first time for everything” and press send, putting your phone down long enough to watch him get the text. Hyunjin laughs to himself, smiling down at his screen, and there’s this weird feeling of satisfaction in your stomach at the sight. Whatever, you like making people laugh, even assholes like him. So what.

You tell yourself that you’re not going to wait at his beck and call, jumping to read his texts as they come in, if in fact he keeps sending them, but then your phone vibrates again and you snap it up immediately, because you’re a liar.

Hyunjin: Just trust me Hyunjin: You want this Hyunjin: But I want something first You: Oh here we go You: There’s the catch A hand waves over your phone. “Hi, hello, are we boring you?” 

Quickly, you turn it over before Seungmin can see your text thread. “No, sorry, I was just, uh - ��

“Hey, leave her be,” your savior Felix says, pushing Seungmin lightly. “She’s had a rough couple of weeks. She shouldn’t have to suffer through your boring work stories, too.”

“Hey!” 

Seungmin and Felix dissolve into arguing as you covertly flip your phone back over. 

Hyunjin: I’m not asking much Hyunjin: Just a photo of you. A photo for a photo

He can’t be serious.

You: I’m not sending you a nude Hyunjin: Did I say nude? No, I did not Hyunjin: A normal selfie, that’s all

Again your suspicion rises. What is he playing at? Where is this going? 

You: But WHY? Hyunjin: Maybe I can’t stop staring, either

Your breath catches in your throat. When you look up, he’s gazing at you again, but his expression is less smug than usual and more… ravenous. 

You turn away so fast, your neck cracks. 

Hyunjin: So? Send me a pic.

There’s no reason for you to agree to this. Absolutely no reason at all. Beyond, of course, your burning curiosity. 

It’s really going to get you in trouble one day.

Grabbing your clutch, you slip off your chair. “Ladies room,” you announce, glancing at Felix and Seungmin, who aren’t listening anyway, still squabbling. You wander just far enough out of sight of your friends, find a spot with good lighting back near the bar (because even if it’s just for Hyunjin, your vanity will not let you take an unflattering photo), and snap a quick picture, firing it off right away. 

As you’re sliding back into your seat, your phone vibrates. Hyunjin sent another photo. 

You swallow reflexively. Holy shit. It’s a shot of his crotch, dress pants straining to contain what is clearly a massive cock, gripped through the fabric by long fingers.

Hwang Hyunjin sent you a dick pic. 

So it’s not big dick energy, it’s just big dick, is the first coherent thought you have once the screeching inside your head stops. It occurs to you that you’ve been gawking unblinkingly at your phone for at least several minutes, so you raise your head to make sure your friends aren’t watching you, and thankfully they’re not. Really, you should know better than to underestimate just how much Felix and Seungmin love to bicker.

But what are you supposed to say to Hyunjin now? Your thumbs hover, waiting for inspiration, but you’re stuck. 

Hyunjin: Wow, are you speechless? Hyunjin: Guess there really is a first time for everything

Even without looking, you know he’s smirking at you from across the room. Suddenly, you need another drink, so you mumble “bar” in Felix’s direction and stumble away. As the bartender mixes you another cocktail, you grip your phone tightly, waging an inner war with yourself. 

You should look at the photo again. You shouldn’t look at the photo again. You should delete it, and Hyunjin’s number, and maybe throw the phone in the nearest trash bin too, just for extra comfort. But holy fuck, do you want to look at the photo again!

What you really don’t want is to think about the effect that photo has had on your pussy, because it’s humiliating how much she’s throbbing right now. 

“I’ll take one of those as well, thanks.” A hand waves towards the bartender, and your treacherous brain immediately recognizes those fingers as the fingers from Hyunjin’s photo, and starts picturing what those lithe digits would look like wrapped around your throat. Great. Now your brain has joined your pussy. Traitors. 

You say nothing as Hyunjin takes the seat next to you. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under your skin again, albeit in a very different way, but also partly because you’re still not sure what to say. 

“You know,” Hyunjin bends towards you, close enough for his warm breath to tickle your ear, “if I’d known that all it would take to get you to stop arguing with me was showing you my cock, I would’ve introduced you much sooner.” 

“God, you are just - just the worst,” you snarl, teeth clenched hard enough to give you a headache. 

“Now really, is that any way to speak to someone who just gave you a gift?” Hyunjin sips his drink calmly. 

Well, there’s the Hyunjin you recognize. What you don’t understand is how he’s still making your cunt drip with need. All you can think about right now is what he’s hiding under those suit pants. Are you really this dumbstruck by cock? 

(Yes. Yes, you are.)

“Me and every other woman in this club, I bet. You probably air dropped it to the whole room.” You wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe that was his plan the whole time - work you up then leave you begging while he hooked up with someone else. As if you’d beg. 

“Oh no, that was just for you.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “Come on. You know how selective I am when it comes to my clothes or my liquor. Why would I be any less selective about who I fuck?” 

“Who you fuck?” Whoa, who said anything about fucking? Besides your duplicitous brain and pussy. “Who - who said - that’s not - I mean -” You’ve suddenly become the Big Bad Wolf, huffing and puffing, unable to form a complete sentence. 

Hyunjin rises, leaning over you as you gaze up at him from your barstool. He places his hands on the bar, one arm on either side of you, bracketing you in, wild eyes trailing down your figure slowly before he smiles, hungry and sharp, and you realize, no, here’s the wolf. 

“Listen, there’s no reason we can’t fuck. Friends fuck all the time.” His hand glides over your shoulder, light as a feather, and you watch dazedly as goosebumps ripple along your skin. His touch is electric. 

“Is that what we are? Friends?” 

Hyunjin shrugs, lips twisted in a droll smile. “Close enough. This doesn’t have to be complicated. You said it yourself - you’re in need.”

“What? When did - I never said that!” Again you struggle to speak coherently, sputtering in your confusion.

Hyunjin frowns. “Ah, you’re right, I misspoke. That was Felix who said that, wasn’t it? On the ride here?” 

You curse inwardly, remembering the private discussion you and Felix had had on the way to the club, when you were discussing your dry spell. Or at least, it was supposed to be private, but obviously someone had been listening in. Felix had offered to play wingman for you, saying he wouldn’t let anything keep him from helping you “in your time of need” - a bit dramatic, but that was Felix for you. 

You’d waved him off, insisting that you could snag someone without any help. But here you are, drowning your sorrows at the bar with no possibilities in sight. Maybe you should’ve accepted Felix’s help after all. 

“That’s not…” Sighing, you shrug. There was no point in trying to deny what he’d heard. “Fine, yeah, I came here tonight hoping to leave with someone, but I didn’t mean you!” 

“That’s because you didn’t know I was an option.” Again his gaze travels down your body, lingering like a slow caress. “But after seeing the way you look tonight, I had to offer myself up.” 

Always. So. Cocky. You want to deny that his words have an effect on you. Want to. But can’t.

And like that, your resolve starts to slip. 

“You really want to help me out?” you ask. He nods, irises blown as his eyes flicker to yours, and it puts fire in your belly, has you biting your lip in contemplation. “What makes you think you have what I need?”  

Hyunjin doesn’t bother to check if any of your friends are watching as he steps closer, like he doesn’t care if anyone sees the way he cups your cheek. Or how he slides his thumb over your lips, dragging the bottom one down before lowering his mouth towards yours. He hangs there, just for a second - just long enough for you to tip your face up in a wordless answer.

His touch has nothing on his kiss. Your whole body thrums from head to toe, fizzing like the champagne on your tongue earlier, sweet and effervescent. His hand falls to your hip, squeezes there suddenly, and you feel a rush of heat between your thighs. 

Hyunjin’s plush lips part, letting the tip of his tongue briefly nudge against yours before he pulls away, leaving you blinking dumbly. He lets out a low chuckle, gently wiping a drop of spit from your chin. 

“I just know.”

You’re too busy licking the inside of your lips, hunting for any lingering trace of him, to respond.  

“Let me lay it out for you, so there’s no misunderstanding. If you can stop pretending for five seconds that you don’t want me the way I want you, you can have me tonight.” His eyes dip to your mouth and back, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to make a move again. Needing him to. “Just think about it.” 

And then he walks away, leaving you nearly toppling off your seat, floundering in his wake. 

The ice cubes in your cocktail have all but melted by the time you remember you ordered another drink. Sipping it slowly, you replay the last several minutes in your head. Did all of that just happen? Did Hyunjin really just offer himself to you? And then kiss you like that?

You feel like you’re going out of your mind. 

“Just think about it.” 

Hyunjin’s last words echo in your head as you wander on wobbly legs back towards the table where Felix and Seungmin are still standing. 

And oh, god, do you think about it. 

For the rest of the night, no matter how many conversations you have with your other friends, no matter how hard you dance, no matter what you do - the sole thought occupying your brain is what it would be like to fuck Hyunjin. Again and again, you picture him above you, beneath you, behind you, big cock stretching you out, making you scream his name. 

But it’s not worth it to give in to him. It can’t be. Good dick - if it’s good - can’t be enough to undo all the annoying shit he does, can it?

You cut yourself off early in the night, explaining that someone needs to stay sober enough to call for rides, but really you’re afraid that if you get completely blitzed, you’ll end up admitting something you don’t want to admit and going home with Hyunjin. Your friends honor your noble sacrifice by achieving impressive levels of drunk, ranging from delightful (Felix repeatedly booping you on the nose, calling you his “widdle buddy”) to disastrous (Chan, who gets upset when the guy he hits on in the bathroom doesn’t respond - turns out he was hitting on his own reflection - before falling asleep in a stall). 

Since the club is in the middle of downtown, you arrange for two cars to pick you and your friends up - one heading east, one heading west. Changbin, Chan, Hyunjin, and you pile into the ride heading west. Changbin hops into the passenger’s seat before you can slip in, leaving you smushed in the back between Hyunjin and Chan’s gigantic thighs. 

Said thighs are splayed a bit as Chan’s head lolls back, a loud snore erupting out of him as the car makes its first stop outside Changbin’s apartment. 

“Can’t take him anywhere,” Changbin grunts, snapping a rather unflattering photo of Chan sleeping with his mouth wide open, obviously saving it to drop in the group chat at the most opportune time. “Can you two make sure he gets home okay? I know it’s a bit out of the way, but, well, look at him.” 

Chan continues to rumble like a fighter jet, unaware of everything going on around him. 

“Yeah, don’t worry, we got him,” Hyunjin replies, and you just nod. “Night, ‘Bin.” 

Changbin gives the driver Chan’s address and then he ducks out of the cab. Your place is technically the next closest, but getting Chan back to his place safe and sound is the priority. 

With Chan sleeping next to you, it’s basically just you and Hyunjin alone now. A fact that has also occurred to Hyunjin, whose hand has been drifting further and further around your waist the entire ride. Now it slides around openly, tucking you against his side. You could fight it if you so desired - he’s not holding you tightly. He’s giving you the chance to escape. 

You’re not sure you want to.

“Have you thought about it?” he murmurs, nose against your ear. 

Your body reacts to the tone of his voice, thighs rubbing together, as you nod. 

“And what did you decide?” 

“I - I don’t know.” 

A puff of air tickles your skin as he laughs derisively. “Do you really need some convincing?” 

Chan snuffles loudly, reminding you that there’s another person right next to you, since your entire focus is on Hyunjin, and the way his hand is now creeping beneath the open back of your dress, and slowly moving up your rib cage. 

When he cups your left breast, you stifle a gasp. But you can’t stop the tiny “ah!” that escapes when he gently pinches your nipple. You attempt to cover it with a cough, hoping the driver’s lack of visible response means he didn’t hear you. Meanwhile, next to you, Chan doesn’t stir. 

“Feel good?” Hyunjin coos quietly. “Must’ve felt good, given the way you’re squirming right now.” 

Your hips have started to rock of their own volition. Brain, hips, pussy, all on your shit list. 

“But just think how much better it’ll feel when it’s my mouth.” His tongue flicks the shell of your ear before he sucks your earlobe into his warm mouth. A preview of what’s to come. It makes you squirm even harder, dying for any sort of relief for the aching between your legs. 

Remarkably, you manage to speak, hissing, “You’re a demon.” 

Hyunjin laughs. “You’ve no idea.” 

His hand stays where it is until the car pulls up at the curb outside Chan’s house. It takes a minute for the two of you to wake Chan, then another minute for him to realize where he is, then yet another minute for him to slide out of the car. Hyunjin sighs and also climbs out of the cab to make sure Chan gets into his house safely. 

When Hyunjin returns, the driver glances in the rearview mirror. “So, one more stop, or two?” 

You blink at the question. The air in the cab feels heavy with implication. Hyunjin says nothing, but looks at you expectantly, and you understand - the choice is yours.

You glance at your hands, as if they’ll help you choose. Your watch informs you that it’s 2:12 in the morning. Don’t they always say not to trust any decisions you make after two am?

When the driver clears his throat a little too loudly, Hyunjin’s fingers grip your chin. 

“Well? You heard him - one stop or two?” 

You meet his gaze, surprised to find a fire burning in his eyes. 

Maybe you’d be a fool to run towards it, seeking warmth where there might only be danger. 

Fine, then. You’re a fool. 

“One.” 

With a satisfied grin, Hyunjin gives the driver his address.

You’re a little tense during the elevator ride up to Hyunjin’s apartment. Hyunjin, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed, quietly leaning against the wall with his normal blasé expression on his face. Like you’re not about to cross a boundary here that you never expected to cross. Like this was inevitable. 

As soon as you’re both inside and his door is locked, he turns to face you, and you suck in a deep breath, waiting impatiently for him to touch you again. 

Instead, he asks, “Do you want some water?” 

“Um, yeah, sure.” 

He must read confusion on your face - at least, you hope it looks like confusion and not disappointment - because the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile. 

“A few questions first,” he says, walking into his kitchen, sliding his suit jacket off as he goes. “Are you in good health?”

“Am I - am I in good health?”

Hyunjin tuts. “I’d ask if you need me to repeat myself but clearly you heard the question.” 

You stare at his back, brows furrowing as you decipher his meaning. “Are you asking if I’ve been tested recently? Yes, I have been. Nothing to report.” 

“Good, me too,” he replies, yanking his tie off and tossing it onto the counter before opening the fridge and grabbing you both a bottle of water. He eyes you as he opens his. “Are you on birth control?”

“Is this what you’re like on a date? Does your foreplay always involve interrogating your partner with clinical questions?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He tilts his head back as he drinks, so he doesn’t catch the glare you shoot his way. “Answer the question.” 

“Yes, dick, I’m on birth control.” You take a swig of your water. The memory of his touch in the taxi is fading more and more with every second that passes. With a clearer head, you’re starting to question if you’ve made the right choice. 

“Good,” he repeats, wiping his mouth. “I prefer to fuck raw.” 

You clench around nothing at the thought, but scowl anyway. “What about what I prefer?” 

Hyunjin just hums, fingers brushing your cheek before they tap under your chin. “Do you want me to use a condom?” There’s no drollness or sarcasm to his tone. He’s genuinely asking. 

“No.” Your pride takes a tiny hit at the way you answer him immediately, without hesitation.

Just as quickly as his gentle tone came, it disappears again, vanishing as Hyunjin flashes a smug smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s what - oh fuck off.” There he is again, that cocky asshole. Reflexively, you curse at him, ready to fight. “Fuck you, you don’t know anything about me.”

“How many times do I need to tell you that I do? You’re so easy to read.” 

“Really?” Okay then. You’ll call his bluff. “Go ahead, Hyunjinnie. Tell me what I like.” 

He rolls his eyes. His fingers make quick work of his cufflinks, setting them on the granite top beside him, and he slides his sleeves up, revealing toned forearms beneath. 

“Well, for starters, you love getting under my skin with that infantile nickname.” 

“No shit. Everyone knows that.” 

“You live for arguing, especially with me. Can’t let a single sentence go by without snapping back.” 

“Maybe that’s because you’re always wrong.”

Hyunjin doesn’t take the bait, merely leans back against the counter, examining you so openly that you feel exposed, so you cross your arms, as if that will help you block his penetrating gaze. He takes a few seconds before speaking again. 

“No, it’s not that. Though I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself. If it were, you wouldn’t be here right now.” 

He speaks so calmly, so self-assuredly. It’s maddening, even though you’re burning with curiosity. Makes you want to know more, so you press him again. “Okay, then - what is it? Why am I here?” 

“Because you wanted someone to take control.” He spreads his arms wide. “And here I am.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know. You want someone else to be in charge. Make the decisions. Do the work for you. Then fuck you so hard that all those thoughts just fly right out of that pretty little head of yours.” He says it all so matter-of-factly, like it’s completely evident, your deepest desires laid bare for all to witness.

You want to dismiss his words, act like he’s so far off the mark that he’s on another planet, but you’re too surprised by his answer to respond with anything other than stunned silence. His arrogant smile returns. Clearly he was expecting you to fight, so your lack of a snappy comeback only confirms to him that he’s right. 

“Just look at what you’re wearing,” he continues. “That tight dress screams ‘please fuck me stupid!’ Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

You find your voice. “Oh, now you’re judging my clothing? And - and slut shaming me?” 

“Please. I’m always judging your clothing. But it’s a taste thing, not some sort of moral judgment.” He smirks. “And I’m very supportive of sluts, thank you.” 

As he sips his water, you replay the entire evening in your mind. Sending you the photos. Kissing you. Making the offer. Fuck. He really did do the work for you tonight. Was there ever a chance you were going to say no? Judging by Hyunjin’s attitude, this moment was never in doubt. He knew you’d end up here with him.  

The other realization that dawns on you is - you’re not mad about any of that. The only thing you’re mad about is that, once again, he’s right about something. And he knows it. 

Okay. Fine. You want to be fucked stupid. But does he have to be so fucking rude about it??

“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

He suddenly steps towards you. His expression is so intense that you move without thinking, backing all the way into the fridge. Your heart feels like it might burst through your ribcage at the slightest provocation, breath leaving your lungs in tiny exhalations as his thumb ghosts your cheek. 

Not because you’re scared. Because you’re excited.

“Tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”

Hyunjin says the words softly, but there’s a firmness to his gaze that makes you swallow hard.

Your lips don’t move. 

He kisses you. Wraps his hands around your waist, pulls you to his demanding mouth, head turning this way and that as his lips crash onto yours.

You kiss him back. Just as greedily, just as deeply. 

His hand strokes your thigh. “Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”

You make no noise.

His fingers crawl beneath your skirt, dancing over the silk of your underwear. Your gasp warms his tongue. A throaty growl chokes him.

“So wet for me.” He brings his hand up to show you the evidence, skin glistening. As if you didn’t already know.

He surges forward, pinning you to the fridge, mouth blazing a trail from your ear to your neck as his fingers press into your soaking slit.

“Ah, Hyunjin!” you whimper, clutching wildly at his bicep. The swell of his arm bulges as his fingers slowly search your inner walls, like they’re mapping every inch of you. When they trace over your g-spot, they linger, brushing again and again. “Oh my god!”

“Tell me,” he implores, husky voice breaking, like he’s barely in control, “tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this - don’t want me - and I’ll call you a ride and we’ll never talk about this again.” 

His forehead bumps yours, eyes smoldering with bright intensity, hand still plunging.

This time, you speak, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Don’t - don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

A smile spreads across Hyunjin’s face. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other hand still working between your thighs. You moan, feeling his erection digging into your hip as he presses himself against you, holding you firmly in place while he adds a third finger to the two already fucking you open. 

“Say it,” he commands, mouth wet and hot on your cheek. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want, oh, fuck, I, I want you to fuck me, Hyunjin.”

In an instant, he’s disentangled himself from you, and you can’t help but whine very loudly at the sudden loss of his fingers. Hyunjin just smirks at your naked desperation, spinning you around so you’re in front of him. 

“Come on,” he says, lightly pinching your ass to make you move. You yelp, smacking him on the arm, but he just laughs. “I’m not fucking you in here. Let’s go.” 

“Asshole,” you curse, but you go anyway, because all you want is for him to touch you again, and if he’s refusing to do it in here, then why would you want to stay? You’re going wherever his hands go. 

Maybe you should feel ashamed, for giving in so easily. But you don’t. All you feel is desire. This is what you want. What you need. 

Hyunjin’s fingers press lightly on the small of your back as he guides you down the hallway to his bedroom. It’s just as ostentatious as the rest of his place - expensive-looking light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, dark leather headboard and frame for his gigantic bed, which is covered in piles of plush-looking blankets and pillows. There’s a gorgeous painting taking up most of the wall above his bed. 

He doesn’t give you much time to admire the room, because as soon as you’re in front of the bed, he spins you again, hands reaching for the zipper of your dress, sliding it to the ground, leaving you standing there in nothing but your panties. Before you can tell him to stop pushing you around, he’s kissing you fervently, like he’s been dying the entire time his mouth has been away from yours these last few minutes, and suddenly you forget that you’re irritated. 

Hyunjin backs you onto the bed, breaking away from your lips long enough to urge you to move towards the headboard, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the side as he follows. When his fingers grab for his belt, they find yours already there, making short work of the buckle. He groans in delight, deciding to use his hands to grope your bare breasts while you unzip his pants. 

“Can’t wait to see it in real life, huh?” he asks, dragging his thumbs over your nipples. He chuckles when you just whimper, back arching slightly to encourage him to keep touching you.

The truth is, yes, you can’t wait to see Hyunjin’s massive dick, but more importantly, you can’t wait to feel it inside you, so you continue with your task, pushing his pants and boxers down together. And god, what a cock it is, long and thick and positively darkened with need. Smeared drops of excitement coat the head, and the sight makes your mouth water. 

He rises up to kneel between your legs, grabbing his cock with one hand and giving it a few lazy pumps. “Well? Don’t tell me you’re speechless again.” 

“Goddamn it,” you huff in exasperation, “you’re the fucking worst.” But you can’t stop staring as he gently squeezes the head, making a pleased noise, relieving himself a little while he watches you writhe in impatience. 

“You’ll be singing a different tune in a moment, sweetheart.” 

Your nose wrinkles at how easily ‘sweetheart’ drips off his tongue. “Just put it in me already,” you demand, leaning back on your elbows, licking your lips as you peer up at him, trying to send a blatant “fuck me!” signal with every inch of your body. 

Hyunjin tuts, lifting one of his gorgeously thick eyebrows. “Right to it? Is that what you really want?” In one swift motion, he hooks a finger under your panties and drags them down and off. It’d be a more impressive move if anyone but him were doing it. 

“I just… I thought we were gonna fuck?” Isn’t that what you’re here for?

“Of course we are. But is that how you typically do it? No foreplay, no build up?” His fingers rake down your stomach, trail over your thighs, causing your body to twitch with shivers. “That doesn’t sound like any fun at all.”

It’s not how you’d prefer to do this, no. You’re just surprised that he agrees. So you say nothing in reply, visibly closing your mouth while he maneuvers you into position, pushing your legs up so your knees bend, your thighs meeting your stomach, completely exposing your cunt to him. 

“That’s better. Just let me play with you a little first, sweetheart. I promise you’ll like it.” 

Your instinct is to argue with him, tell him he has no idea what you’d like, but you’ve already done that tonight. And you were wrong. So again, you bite your tongue. 

Until he extends his own, letting a string of spit fall onto your pussy.

“Ew, Hyunjin!” You’re disgusted, but not with him. Why do you find that so hot?

“Too much?” he inquires, letting go of your legs as he glances at you. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen a real expression of concern on his face before. It rattles you slightly. 

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No - keep going.” 

He nods, hands reaching for your thighs again. “If I hit any hard no’s for you, say something, and I promise I’ll stop, okay?” 

“I will.” 

He bows over you again, licking a straight line up your slit. With a moan, you let your head drop back against the pillows. His mouth feels absolutely divine.

Where others in the past just dove in, Hyunjin takes his time. He drags his tongue around slowly, licking through your soaking folds, tasting you. It reminds you of the way you’d seen him drink a really fine whisky, holding it in his mouth, quietly identifying every note, every flavor. Relishing, instead of rushing. 

When his lips brush over your clit, leaving teasing kisses, you moan. Hyunjin hums, a self-satisfied little rumble, and lifts his head. “See? Told you you’d like this.” 

“Please, shut up and suck my clit.” It’s meant to be an order but definitely sounds like a pathetic whine. Whatever, as long as he listens. 

He listens. Those plush lips that you can’t stop yourself from staring at roll over your already throbbing little nub and warm pleasure runs down your spine before pooling in your belly. His dark hair keeps falling in his face, obscuring him from your view, and for some reason you can’t have that. Tentatively, you reach out, hand shaking a little. 

Hyunjin hums when your fingers slide through his soft locks, pushing the strands back, holding them in place so you can see his eyes, the way they squeeze shut when he sucks noisily on your clit. The sounds he makes are so loud, completely uninhibited, moaning and grunting as his lips smack and his tongue laps. 

He uses said tongue to fuck you expertly, his movements so confident, so sure. He reads every quiver, listens to every moan, figures out how to work you up with quick, teasing shallow plunges, before slowing it down, going deeper, tongue brushing your walls like he’s speaking a language only your body understands. 

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

His mouth parts from you long enough for him to speak. “There it is. There’s the tone I was looking for. Enjoy this, sweetheart. I know I am.” 

You’re enjoying it so much that you unexpectedly whimper when he stops again a moment later, feeling a little embarrassed as he exhales a quiet laugh into your warmth. “Just hold on,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue up your slit to pass over your clit again and again, before sliding a finger into your clenching hole.

“Ohhhh.” 

The combination is so good, his finger filling you while his mouth suctions to you, that your eyes flutter shut. He pulls out and glides back in, all the way to his knuckles in one smooth motion, your wet folds parting so easily for him. He’s done an amazing job of spreading your slickness around, coating your inner thighs, messing his bed beneath you. 

“Gonna make you come,” Hyunjin says, spreading you open with two fingers now. “Need you to come before I can fuck you just like you want. Can you do that for me?”

The tension in your gut tells you that that shouldn’t be a problem. Both fingers have curled inside you, stroking over your soft spot, making you pant, clutching Hyunjin’s satin sheets for dear life. 

“Hy-Hyun-”

Before you can even finish saying his name, the tension snaps, nerves firing from your cunt to your toes, causing your legs to lock up. Hyunjin groans, moving his hands to grasp at your thighs, trying to loosen their squeeze. 

“Easy, sweetheart, don’t take me out just yet.” When your body finally starts to relax, he grins. “There we go. Good girl.”

If this were any other time, you’d snap at him for dropping that pet phrase on you. But you’re too blissed out at the moment, practically purring as he starts to kiss his way up your torso. 

When he reaches your breasts, he joins you, a low rumble sounding from the back of his throat. His nose nuzzles between them, as he leaves loud kisses on their swelling curves. 

Another thing Hyunjin isn’t wrong about - his mouth feels much better than his fingers do on your nipples, tongue gliding like warm velvet against the pert nubs. You continuously moan, until you’re nearly panting, fingers once again finding his dark locks and threading themselves between. 

“How am I doing, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“Good.” It doesn’t even occur to you to tell him anything but the truth. “So good, Hyunjinnie. Ah!” You flinch as he suddenly nips the other nipple, teeth clamping gently. “Why?!” 

“You and that damn nickname. I must not be doing enough if you’re still calling me that.” He rises onto his knees, shaking his head. “Guess I just gotta fuck it out of you.” 

And just like that, you feel that spark again. 

“Sure you will, Hyunjinnie,” you simper, voice dripping with honey, so sickeningly-sweet as you coo his name. It has the desired effect, making Hyunjin’s eyes flash. 

He reaches for you, pulling you up into his lap, before you can so much as breathe. “You doubting me, sweetheart?” His hands press into your hips, urging you down on him. Both of you groan as his cock slides along your cunt, and the sparks inside you ignite. 

“I’m not your sweetheart,” you spit back, feeling that familiar sense of agitation, but it’s not annoyance now, it’s anticipation. 

“And I’m not really yours, but let’s play pretend for the night,” he drawls, and you look at him with wide eyes, but he kisses away the wonder on your face, working you up with teeth and tongue, until you’re frenzied with need. Your fingers clutch at his biceps, nails sinking in to tether him closer. 

His hands on your waist guide you down again. As his cockhead breaches your lips, you keen, head falling forward onto his shoulder. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasp. The stretch is delicious, cunt already throbbing around his thickness.  

Both of you freeze when you’re fully seated on him, no sounds in the room but the rhythmic cadence of your panting intertwining with his. 

“You know,” Hyunjin speaks through grit teeth, focused on the spot where your bodies join, “we could’ve been doing this a long, long time ago.”

You don’t know what to say to that. How long has he wanted this? You’re not sure the exact answer for yourself, except that it’s longer than you’d ever truly want to confess.

“Maybe - maybe if you weren’t such a - oh, oh, oh!” Your lame attempt at a retort is lost to the rapid snapping of Hyunjin’s hips when he starts to thrust up into you. There’s nothing you can do but bounce in his lap, clinging to his shoulders as he finally fucks you just as hard as he’d promised. “Hyunjin, please!” 

Hyunjin grunts, perspiration trickling down his forehead as he concentrates on giving you what you wanted. His jaw flexes, brows drawn together in a frown, and even with this fierce expression on his face, he’s so beautiful that you can’t help yourself, diving forward to kiss that gorgeous mouth of his like you’ve always imagined, as if you weren’t just kissing him a few minutes ago, but like it’s the first time, tracing his lips with yours, imprinting the feeling of them against your own to store away in your memory for later.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His words are the oxygen you inhale, tongues pressed together like the pages of a book. “I think I prefer you this way. So needy for my cock.” He smirks. “Kinda want to keep you like this.” 

He digs his fingers into the plump roundness of your ass as he grinds into you, sliding you back and forth. Your hips undulate, rolling you down on his big cock, feeling every inch of him rubbing against your walls. 

“Hyu-hyu-hyun!” 

It’s impossible to get an entire word out, given the pace at which Hyunjin’s strokes are jostling you. Your staccato cries get louder when he switches it up, laying you on your back and shoving a pillow under your hips. His thighs smack into your ass with every plunge of his thick length, and again you can do nothing but try to breathe, drowning in euphoria as you are.

“Yeah, you’re best just like this. Stuffed full of cock, no room for thoughts. Or arguments.” 

“F-fuck!” You were trying to say ‘fuck off’ but Hyunjin chose that moment to thumb at your clit, giving the aching nub the friction it so badly needed. Your hips buck up, making Hyunjin groan.

“Just like that, so good for me.” 

You whine involuntarily at his praise, hips lifting again, trying to take him deeper. Every stroke of his cock lights you up, your body tingling from head to toe. The strong thrumming in your gut is going to overtake you soon and you’re finally going to get what you’ve been needing for weeks now. And it’s Hyunjin of all people who is going to give it to you. 

You’re pulled out of your reverie as Hyunjin suddenly pulls out, falling onto his side next to you. 

“What are y- oh!” You gasp as he turns you on your side, facing away from him. One hand lifts  your leg, sliding it back until your calf loops over his. Then he enters you again, and again, thrusting in deep, powerful movements. “Oh, fuck, goddamn.” 

“That’s right,” he growls, arm beneath you bending, hand coming to a rest around your throat. Not squeezing, but holding you in place, back pressed to his front. You’re both covered in sweat, bodies gliding over one another, making it hard for him to keep his pace. So his fingers spread on your chest, locking you in place, giving him leverage to pound into you. “Take it, sweetheart. Take what I give you like a good girl.” 

“Ahhh,” you moan, “don’t - don’t call me that.” 

“No? You don’t like being praised?” Hyunjin releases his hold on your thigh, running his others fingers around where his cock keeps sliding between your lips. “Your pussy tells me another story. You’re soaking my sheets.”

“Nah - ah - not that, ’s not that.” With this slightly slower rhythm, you’re able to speak, but full sentences still seem hard. “Like praise. Hate - hate good girl.” 

“Ohhh, I see.” Hyunjin laughs breathily. “I should’ve known. You’re too proud. Think it makes you look weak if I call you that? Hmm?” 

Even in your desperate state, you know he’s not far off from the truth. You don’t want him calling you that, because it feels like giving in to him. Letting him take control completely. Possessing you. His good girl. 

The real, honest to god truth is - you can’t let him call you that, because you do want it. And you hate how much you want it. 

So you deny it. Or at least, you try to. But all you can stutter is a weak “You’re s-such a d-dick,” as he continues snapping his hips into your ass, making your entire body jiggle in his strong grip. 

Hyunjin drops an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, wet and sloppy. You curl your fingers into his arm as you sense that you’re approaching the precipice of your orgasm. You can tell that it’s going to be an intense one, one of those climaxes that clears your mind of all thought and leaves you literally shaking in ecstasy. Just as he’d promised.

You do appreciate a man who follows through on his promises. 

Hyunjin must feel the way you’re starting to clench around him, groaning into your shoulder. “Ahh, I think this little cunt’s trying to tell me something again, sweetheart. You gonna come for me? Hmmm?” His fingers rub over your clit, the sudden touch making you jolt. “Come on, be a good girl and c-”

Twisting your head, you smash your nose into his cheek, clumsily seeking his mouth. Cutting him off with heated kisses, hoping he’ll interpret it as annoyance fueling your actions and not see it for what it truly is - untamed desire. 

A strangled cry passes from Hyunjin’s lips into yours, and with one more tweak to your clit, you come undone. Your body locks up, thighs going rigid, cunt clamping around his cock so fiercely that Hyunjin hisses loudly, forehead resting on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he whispers in your ear. Sweat drips from his skin onto yours. “You’re gonna make me come. Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer. You’re gone, completely gone, beyond words, capable of making only the most broken, pathetic sounds, wantonly mewling as slowly grinds into you, cock rubbing against your clenching walls. When your legs start to go slack, he resumes his thrusting, but at a languorous pace, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to go easy on you now that you’re approaching overstimulation, or if he’s trying to slow himself down.

“I think it is what you want. I think you want me to fill this little pussy up with my cum, don’t you? Hmm?” His nose prods at your cheek. “A sweet creampie for my good girl?”

The whine that you let you out is pitifully loud. White hot shame spikes through you, but only for a second, the emotion quickly burnt away by your fervent need. 

“Come on, tell me. Tell me you want it.” 

“Ahhh!” You gasp as his cock sinks in deeper, hitting your g-spot. It’s almost too much, the delicious drag, and your fingers dig into his arm, nails sinking into his skin. “Fuck!”

“Tell me,” he says again, but this time there’s a plea laced into the command, a desperate edge in his tone that strikes a chord somewhere deep inside you, and suddenly you want to give him anything he needs. 

“Hyunjin, I want it, p-please!” 

Those are the magic words. Hyunjin groans, his hips falling out of their slow rhythm, jerking erratically as he does exactly what he said, shooting his load deep inside you, moaning your name the entire time. You grip the sheets so hard, you’re afraid you’ll tear them, shoving your hips back against his, riding out his climax with him. 

“Pussy’s sucking me dry, sweetheart. So greedy,” he pants, trailing kisses along your neck. “Think it wants more.” 

“Hyunjin!” You sob his name again, voice breaking. All it takes is his fingers pinching at your clit and you’re coming again, stomach twitching, breath leaving your body in one big rush. 

When your body stops trembling, Hyunjin finally slips out of you, his hand falling away from your cunt. He lets out a tired laugh.

“You can take your nails out of my arm. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Oh.” Your neck burns a little in embarrassment. You hadn’t realized you were still holding on to him so tightly, unconsciously keeping him in place. Keeping him close to you. You relax your grip, and he slides his arms around you further, locking you into his embrace. 

It’s… nice, being in Hyunjin’s arms. Really nice. Lying there, in your messy, tired state, you feel rather content. 

But the longer you lie there, just breathing together, not speaking, your head starts to fill with thoughts again. Questions. The most pressing being, at what point is he going to kick you out? Because despite everything that just happened, he’s still Hyunjin, and you’re still you, and - 

“It’s already started.” Hyunjin hums, lightly shaking you. “I can hear you thinking again.” 

Your reflexes kick back in. “It’s just what I do. You should try it some time.” 

To your surprise, Hyunjin starts to laugh. You roll over, nose bumping his as you give him a curious look. 

“What?” 

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “You’ve got a fighter’s instinct. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fight me all the time?” 

You stare at him as you try to make sense of the rather casual confession of admiration he just dropped. Nope. Can’t. Not right now.

“I…” You pause. “Sorry. It’s just a habit.” 

He smiles, something genuine that slowly shifts into his familiar smirk, and even as spent as you are, you feel a stirring inside you. “Guess we need to work on that.”

In the morning, you might regret what you say next. But the night’s not over yet. “Maybe you just didn’t fuck me stupid enough yet.” 

Hyunjin accepts your challenge with a kiss. 

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© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my works.

Taglist: @scoupsjin; @aznstoner; @yourtmblrgirlfriend; @hyunlvrs; @notevenheretbh1; @chrisbangsgalaxy; @dessianna1

[murdrdocs]

to forever always

description. LUKE CASTELLAN has never had any interest in relationships. but when he sees that look in your eyes, the same one he keeps buried deep down inside of himself, there's nothing more he wants than for you to be with him. except, maybe for you to be like him.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+ , heavy petting, grinding, making out, dark!luke, loser!luke, dark!reader, implications to maiming, luke is a professional at longing, reader has hair long enough to be pinned back, they play simon says, typical young adult awkwardness, drinking.

wc: 5.5k+

a/n: title from forever always by the driver era. ao3 link. art creds to yazed aljohani

You’ve been at camp for nearly three months when Luke sees it in your eyes. 

You’ve been unremarkable at best before then. A late arrival without a capturing story carried along with you, no captivating backstory to draw attention. You stuck to yourself mostly, only coming out of your shell when conversing during training sessions with Luke. He went out of his way to set them up, fueled by the fact that you were older than most, closest to his age, and he didn’t want you to feel left behind when some thirteen year old could easily disarm you in five minutes flat. 

Truth be told, he pitied you. 

As a result, he trained you four times a week, pushing your body to its limits and sharing anecdotes during your break periods to provide some sort of solace for you. Because at the end of the day, Camp Half Blood was your home. At least, that’s how it was supposed to be presented. 

During his share of anecdotes, practically each story starting on that fateful day when he was fourteen, Luke left out his true feelings about the area surrounding you both. He preferred to keep you blinded with things happy enough to make you laugh, with only enough hints of the truth to make you start asking the right questions. 

His attentive training has hardened you around the edges. He’s made you a little rougher, or perhaps he’s chiseled away at the stone encasing your true nature, and the person he stood next to was who you really were. 

A warrior. 

An animal. 

Teeth bared, sword raised over the kid lying helplessly at your feet, your chest heaving with effort and a dark look in your eyes. Darker than Luke has ever seen before. It’s victorious, with a hint of a challenge in there. As if you’re daring this kid to stand up, gather his sword, and attempt to best you once more. 

Surely, with the way Luke has trained you, if the kid did make an attempt he would end up in the same position in no time. 

The sight is exhilarating. It makes the blood rush to Luke’s ears and his fingertips start to buzz with the fuel he’d never been able to use. But he’s in control here. And he has an image to uphold. 

He calls your name, firm and demanding. The tone of a leader. 

He rests a hand on the shoulder pad of your armor, pushing you back from the kid with enough force to distance you two. He fills the space created, his back to the others and his eyes cutting down at you. It takes you a second to lift your eyes to him, and when you do, when you look up at Luke—at your leader—you’re seething. 

Luke really tries to hold his smile in and he’s glad that right now, you’re the only one who can see him. 

“At ease. You got ‘em.” 

You watch him pointedly, nostrils flared, and Luke lifts an eyebrow with a controlled movement, questioning you, daring you to challenge him. 

You take a step back and rid the tension in your shoulders as you adjust your helmet. 

You don’t say anything, instead sheathing your sword into its scabbard and watching Luke once more, waiting for orders. 

He has trained you well. 

‎

The energy around the campfire is palpable. It washes over the bodies of the campers surrounding the bonfire, settling over their skin and providing a glow.  Even some of the Ares kids appear to be beaming, although they were clearly sour about another loss. 

You, like everyone else, seem to be in good spirits too. A pleasant smile on your face as you watch the scene around you.

The fire burns a mesmerizing gold and Luke finds you watching it reach up toward the sky, your curious eyes taking in as much of it as you could. Your head is already tilted up, so you don’t adjust your position at all whenever Luke steps into perspective. 

He stares down at you for a moment, searching for that look in your eyes. The same one he saw during capture the flag a few weeks ago. 

Ever since then, Luke has developed a new fixation, one multiplied whenever he got a hit just a few days ago during training. 

He’d had you on your knees then. Your chest heaving with exhaustion as you were staring up at Luke with a look so threatening that he wondered what exactly you were capable of. You were definitely at your wits end by that point, but that wasn’t when he saw it. Deep within your eyes was sincerity, maybe a bit of worry, and Luke knew that if he drew his sword down to give you a critical hit, a final blow even, you would defend yourself. 

But that’s all. 

He hadn’t felt the need to prepare for an opposing attack. He knew you would defend yourself, but not go for the attack. You wouldn’t hurt him. And that wouldn’t do. 

So Luke laughed. He threw his head back and let out an exaggerated guffaw as he exclaimed that you looked perfect on your knees. As he insinuated that that was where you belonged. Beneath him. Beneath anyone. 

His teasing did the trick. And he has a healing scar on the outside of his forearm to prove it. 

Now, standing above you at the campfire, a setting so casual that it was almost sickening, Luke didn’t see any resemblance of anything challenging in your gaze. 

Instead, you appear back to usual, sitting alongside a few of the Athena kids yet not actively engaging in conversation, holding a burnt marshmallow on a stick with two hands, your elbows resting on your knees as you look up at Luke with that same pleasant smile. 

“This seat taken?”

He’s already sitting down as he asks it and if someone were to return, he knows they wouldn’t have attempted to reclaim their spot. 

You stare over at him with amusement written all over your face. 

“What if I said it was?” 

Luke shrugs. He reaches over, sliding your stick out of your hand and sticking the marshmallow back into the fire. He lets it ignite, turning it over to do the same to the other side, and after a second he removes the sweet treat, extinguishes the flames, and takes a bite out of it. 

You’re watching him, waiting for a response, and when you realize that he’d already given his response, you turn back to watch the fire instead. 

He lets you sit in silence, slowly chewing through the sticky food as he watches the side of your face. 

You look pretty like this. The amber glow of the fire illuminates your face, casting visually stunning shadows across your skin, highlighting places Luke has noticed but never appreciated until now. 

He has always known you’re pretty. He’s known it since you walked into camp, confused and stunned as demigods clustered around you. 

Luke remembers looking around at his fellow campers, noticing how judgmental they seemed. Because, in all honesty, you weren’t like the other people that came to Camp Half Blood. Not terrified, young, and lost in the world. 

Not only were you older, but you had a certain stance to you that told Luke you weren’t confused, just curious. Your head was lifted, your shoulders pressed back as you held up the thick straps of your stuffed book bag. You were faking to be unbothered, but as you eventually confirmed Luke’s prior assumptions, you were worried. 

Worried about the sea of young faces you saw. Worried that coming to Camp Half Blood at your age was a mistake. 

Until your eyes met Luke’s. His dark eyes were watching you, analyzing your form for potential. Trying to find areas that could be molded into a fighter, and aspects that didn’t have to be changed one bit. 

According to you, seeing Luke made you feel comfortable. Seeing Luke made you feel like coming to camp wasn’t a mistake at all. 

He is glad that you arrived as well. Because before you, Luke felt alone. 

He was looked up to, admired, respected, but rarely seen as just a peer. 

And even further, before you got here, he hadn’t seen himself being romantic with anyone. 

But now, sitting here with the gold of the fire affecting his mood in the same way he affects it, he has the sudden urge to intertwine your fingers with his or throw his arm over your shoulder. Maybe pull you into his side and plant his lips on yours, effectively claiming you as his and letting you claim him as yours. 

Instead, he knocks his shoulder against yours. 

“What’s got you looking so sad over there? We won today. You should be celebrating.” 

You laugh a little, but it’s not one of the big and genuine ones you give him when he cracks an impressive joke. 

“Give me something stronger than s'mores and maybe I’ll celebrate.” 

Luke faces back towards the fire as he tells you, “that can be arranged”. 

He notices you watching him from the corner of his eye. He can’t tell if you’re smiling, and if you are, if it’s one of genuine interest or one of amusement derived from misunderstanding his tone for a joke. 

Either way, you hum. “Don’t tease me like that.” 

He tilts his head a little. “Bold of you to assume that I’m teasing.” 

He stares at you and a moment of understanding passes by. 

Then, “but only if you tell me why you look so sad.” 

Luke knows he’s a brave person. Hell, he took on a dragon at just seventeen and lived with nothing but a scar as a reminder. (And the plaguing nightmares but what the others didn’t know won’t hurt them)

But he feels a different form of bravery find him as he reaches a hand out, plants his thumb at the corner of your lips, and tugs upwards. 

“You know what they say about turning that smile…” He lets the end of his sentence taper off, raising his eyebrows as if he expects you to finish the overdone phrase for him. It doesn’t surprise him when you swat his hand away instead. 

He thinks he sees you hiding a smile when you turn away from him for a second but when you return with another marshmallow, sticking it on the end of the stick in between Luke’s hands, your face is neutral. 

He thrusts the white into the burning gold as you begin to speak.

“Do you remember the first capture the flag win? When I was on defense with you?” 

One side of the marshmallow ignites and Luke turns it around so the other can do the same. 

“When you were taking down the others? Of course I do.” 

(Luke resists the urge to add a mention of how attractive you looked then. He doesn’t know how you would take the comment in general, much less when you seem to be going through some sort of moral battle)

“Yeah.” You take a moment. 

Luke takes the marshmallow out and blows on it. He lets it cool. 

“I didn’t feel like myself then,” you eventually admit.

“What d’you mean?” 

You shrug. “I dunno. I felt … meaner. Like–” 

“Like you wanted to hurt someone?” 

When you nod, you’re staring down at the ground, refusing to look up at Luke. 

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he lies. 

“That’s normal for demigods.” 

That gets your attention. You look over at Luke with hope in your eyes, the pair shining in the light as they flicker back and forth between Luke’s own gaze. 

“Really?”

Not allowed to back down now, Luke nods. 

“Yeah. That rage you have within you. The need to beat someone, to be better than someone. I feel it all the time.” And that, that right there, is the stone cold truth. 

He’s never admitted it to anyone else before, but with you, things feel different. He figures that this feeling he has around you is what some religious people feel in their faith. Maybe what some of the other believers at camp feel in regards to their parents. 

Luke pops the marshmallow into his mouth whole. 

You look relieved as you speak. He hadn’t noticed the tension in your body until it’s gone. 

“So I’m not messed up?” Your voice is small, weak, insecure, almost. 

Luke almost feels bad about lying to you. 

Almost. 

“Not any more than the rest of us.” 

What he doesn’t say is: not any more than me. 

As soon as his marshmallow is swallowed, he asks you to meet him later that night. 

‎

Luke feels like he’s been waiting ages for you. 

He’s paced a path in the dirt, twirled the small dagger he kept on him until his fingers could no longer grip the handle comfortably, and he’s started to gnaw on his bottom lip in anticipation that at this point he worries that they aren’t kissable anymore. Because no matter how much he tries to lie to himself, he invited you out to the clearing that you train in with one intention in mind. 

He digs into the pocket of his cargos, searching for a second before his fingers wrap around the small tube of chapstick he got from one of his sisters. Cherry flavored, artificially so, but it still smells pleasant enough. Whenever he’d received it from her it was fresh, the seal unbroken, but since then he has used at least a quarter of its contents. 

The balm glides over the broken pieces of skin, smoothing them out as best as possible, and then Luke recaps the tube and stuffs it back into his pocket. 

It’s no sooner that the lip balm has found a home again that he hears the thud of a shoe against the soft ground behind him. 

He doesn’t turn around, not yet. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Instead, he twirls his knife again, a little slower this time to prevent it from slipping and falling onto the ground embarrassingly. 

“Didn’t think I should’ve brought a weapon.” 

Just the sound of your voice makes Luke’s insides flutter. He feels stupid, silly even, to have such a crush like this. He feels juvenile. 

A smile briefly blooms across his face before he snips it off, turning around to look at you as neutrally as he can manage. 

“You should always keep a weapon on you. Don’t you remember rule number one?” 

Luke watches you reach behind your back for only a second before you brandish the dagger he’d given you for him to see, a triumphant smile on your lips. 

“I’m a good listener. Don’t you remember?” 

Proud, Luke tucks his dagger back into its holster and you do the same. 

He takes a step closer to you as he proposes his next question, a hand reaching up to flick off an imaginary lash from your cheek. He doesn’t know why, but as of today he’s found himself touching you more. Searching for any reason to justify feeling your skin against his. 

“How good of a listener are you?” 

Your head tilts a bit, eyes squinting, and he realizes that it’s an action he does often. The implications of you picking up things from him makes his chest bloom with something. Pride, maybe? 

“Try me.” 

You step back, giving Luke a full view of your body. 

He lets his eyes scan your frame once. Taking in your messy hair, pinned up for the night. Your sweatshirt with some school on it. Luke, not knowing much about the outside world, doesn’t know if it’s college or high school, much less its location. But it’s well worn in, clearly loved by you. You’ve paired it with a loose pair of pants, and Luke has suspicions that if he were looking at you from behind, the flowy material would perfectly outline your ass. 

He clears his throat and meets your eyes again. 

“Okay…” he thinks for a second. “Simon says: touch your nose.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes, but then you lift your right hand, single out your pointer finger, and press it against the tip of your nose. 

“Simon says: touch your toes.” 

Luke watches, seeing if he’ll catch you, but you keep one hand situated on your nose and use the other to reach down to press your hand against the beat up end of your sneakers. 

“Hm, okay,” Luke nods as if he’s impressed. Like you would struggle at a kids game. 

“Simon says you can stop.” 

You stand back up straight. 

“Simon says: spin around twice.” 

You spin around twice. 

Instantly, without giving you a second to rest, “spin around a third time.” 

You jerk for a second, but stay still in the end. Luke points, smiling a bit as if saying I almost had you. 

You don’t respond but your lips curl up into a little embarrassed smile. 

Luke continues giving you orders for a few moments, letting you get comfortable with the preface of “Simon says” just before he gives the final blow. 

“Kiss me.” 

There’s no order from Simon before it. Just Luke. He gauges your reaction. And when he sees you stay put, he tries to move on. 

“Simon says–” 

But then you’re walking towards him, and you’re reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders, and you’re pulling him down to reach you better, and then you press your lips to his. It’s light, a barely there touch, and then you’re pulling away, walking back to your spot, and standing straight, waiting for your next order. 

“I didn’t say Simon says.” 

Proudly, you tell him, “I know.” 

There’s a moment where the only noise is that of nature. Of the harmony of the world existing around this possibly unharmonious moment. The brief balance could easily be thrown off by your reaction to the next bit. If Luke were being dramatic, he would claim that your reaction determines the fate of the world, and maybe even of his mission. 

He takes a breath, and then takes the plunge. 

“Simon says: kiss me again.”

This time, your kiss is firmer. You’re standing on your toes a bit, overcompensating for Luke who still stands tall with his shoulders back and his head up. 

Eventually, he dips his head down at the same time that he finally gets to touch you. 

It’s small, nothing but a hand on your hip, but the context of it changes everything for him. He’s touched you before, brief presses of his fingers against a part of your body to emphasize a point, or correct your posture, and then earlier when he reached out for the delicate skin on your face. 

Those things were friendly, that of a mentorship even. 

Nothing to this degree. 

You tilt your head and deepen the kiss, opening your mouth wider as you start to take control. And Luke hands it to you. 

He grips the loose fabric of your pants, takes the tiniest step forward, and presses himself against you. In return, you nudge closer to him, holding the sides of his head and keeping him steady to allow yourself to explore his mouth. 

He’s a little lost, he’s never gotten to this base with anyone before. Besides the time he kissed one of the Aphrodite kids as part of truth or dare years ago. But that kiss was nothing compared to this, not even on the same scale. 

In this field, he’s inexperienced. 

For fear of making a complete fool of himself, he simply mirrors in the form of reciprocation. 

When you press your tongue into his mouth, he does the same, meeting you not quite in the middle and simply doing what you do. 

There’s a moment there where you leave Luke’s lips, and he’s preparing himself to be upset when you pull away, but then your lips pucker and you suck his upper lip for just a split second, and you return to kissing him like his knees didn’t just get a little weak. 

Fortunately, the slight lapse presses his crotch against yours again, and you suck in a breath when Luke accidentally grinds his boner into you. 

Sensing that it’s something good, and satisfied that he’s not the only one as aroused as he is, he does it again. This time intentionally. 

He frees his grip on your pants to move his palms around, pressing into the top of your ass and the end of your back, pulling you closer to bump your crotches. 

This time, you do peel away from his lips completely, but it’s to let out the prettiest sound Luke has ever heard. 

Your eyebrows are pinched together a bit, your lips shining in the torch light and parted. 

You’ve only been apart for a couple of seconds, but Luke is on you again. 

He sacrifices the grip he has on your lower half to stretch his hand along the connection of the back of your skull and neck, fingers spreading as far as the tip of your spine to an inch into your scalp. 

He lets go of the insecurities he has in his lack of experience and just kisses you. His immediate intention isn’t to take control from you. Rather, it’s just to have you as close to him as possible. 

You respond eagerly. Arching into him, slinking your arms over his shoulders, pressing your hands into the muscles along his back. At one point, you lift your leg and nudge your knee against Luke’s side by way of getting even closer to him. The position change allows the first real touch of your centers together and your head falls back, exposing the pretty sight of your jugular to him. 

There’s a moment there where Luke has the urge to wrap his hand around it. But he fears what your reaction would be so he flexes his hand, and lets the thought evaporate into the stiff night air. 

Luke knows that he feels as he does because of the hormones swirling throughout his body, but he has the feeling that he can trust you. Really trust you. Enough to tell you everything he’s ever wanted to tell anybody. 

“Do you trust me?” He says it to you, his hand pulling your head back towards his, your lips mere centimeters a part. 

You nod, the tip of your nose nudging against his with each movement. 

Luke kisses you once, then tells you, “the gods, they–”. 

He doesn’t have a spiel planned, but his need to tell you everything has him covered. He knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Not until you understand your parents as he does. 

You put an unexpected dent into Luke’s poorly conceived plan when you shake your head. 

“Don’t wanna hear about the gods right now, Luke. Just wanna kiss you.” 

And the way you say it, like it’s something you need rather than just want, makes Luke abide completely. 

His free hand slips under your shirt, pressing his palm flat against your torso, and giving himself the first real press of skin on skin. He sighs, pulling away from your lips to knock his forehead against yours.  

He slides his hand up until he finds where your bra would sit. But he doesn’t run into any more material. Instead, he reaches a hill, one he nudges his thumb against, reaching up until he finds the beginning of your areola. Then, as if he’s realizing that he’s going further than he should be, he pulls his head away and looks at you. 

“Is this…?” The question makes him feel vulnerable. If he finishes it, he bares his wants out to you. And he knows that you have done the same for him already, but he doesn’t feel ready to invite the possibility of rejection. 

So instead, he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to catch on. 

You nod, biting down onto your lower lip. Your hands begin to search, too, leaving behind the sides of Luke’s face to tickle through the grown out hairs at the back of his head. 

What follows is the most carnal display of want that Luke has ever been part of. 

He starts by tweaking your nipples, applying light pressure and then smoothing it out when you moan. He watches your reactions to try and figure out what to do next, but luckily you end up pulling his hand away yourself, leading it to the elastic waistband of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, not needing to say what you want for Luke to take initiative. 

Luckily, the favor is returned. 

You unbutton his jeans, pull them down just enough, and reach a hand into the fabric, touching along the gingham pattern of his briefs. 

There’s not much coordination to it at all, but it doesn’t seem to bother either of you. From how Luke sees it, you’re equal amounts of eager, pressing against each other in multiple areas as if you’re both attempting to fuse your bodies together. 

In the excitement of it all, Luke accidentally bumps the heel of his palm against your center. He assumes that it would have hurt you, so he’s close to apologizing. 

Until you moan. 

That’s all it takes for Luke to push away the rest of his pride and insecurities. He takes a breath. 

“Will you … can you show me what to do? How to make you feel good?” 

Your reply is instant. “Two fingers.” 

He singles out his pointer and middle finger. 

“And then go...” You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling his touch up to find something that his fingers catch on, a bundle of nerves that apparently feels good for you. You nod, sighing out a small “right there”. 

He feels a little dumb when he asks, “What do I do now?” 

“Rub. Circles are best, but side to side works too.” 

So that’s what he does. 

He starts slow at first, the circles a little wide, but they feel good for you. You’re nodding, eyes fluttering shut a bit. You return your hand to Luke, pressing over his dick, and then sliding a little further down until you reach his balls. 

He tries to hide his sound, but a hitch of his breath comes out anyway. 

There’s a tree stump just behind you, a product of an accident Luke has yet to tell you about, but you direct him towards it, standing over him for a second when he falls back to sit on it. The two of you have sat on the stump a few times before, but never in this capacity. 

Luke watches you climb over him, straddling his hips, and pushing your crotches together.

Then, you grind. 

One of Luke’s hands finds your ass, the other reaches back to connect with what’s left of the tree, reclining his position just enough to provide more room. He lets you do the rest, spurring you on with little nods and small breaths. 

It’s not like you can see him, not when your eyes are pinched shut. 

Luke wants to join you. His eyes threaten to close and submerge him in a void that would enhance every single feeling. But closing his eyes means getting rid of this sight. And he never wants to forget what you look like right now. 

There’s sweat beading along your hairline and running down the side of your face. Your face is one of relaxation, save for the tiniest crease of concentration between your eyebrows. Luke can tell that you’re warm, and not just by the perspiration. But clearly his training has been paying off because your body doesn’t show fatigue. Your muscles are still taunt, your movements are still languid. You don’t show any plans of stopping anytime soon. 

And at first, that’s what Luke wants. 

There’s a few moments where he’s lost in oblivion. Where he pictures the worst thing in the world happening, and it’s you getting off of him. The feeling is so delicious, your centers grinding together, bumping clumsily yet still working in both of your favors. 

He doesn’t want it ever to end. 

And then he cums. 

Again, he tries to hide the sounds he makes. But a groan rips through his throat, jumping out of his mouth and falling directly onto the fabric of your shirt when he rests his forehead against your chest. 

He uses you as an anchor, his big hands gripping any part of you that he can find. He grips your clothes as he attempts to tether himself to the here and now. 

He’s huffing, spent even though he did none of the work. Eventually, he lifts his head to search for your lips, but then he winces when you keep going. 

He’s speaking in fragments. He’s trying to communicate his sensitivity. But you only shake your head, speeding your hips up a bit more. 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry. I’m almost there. Swear, Luke. I swear…” and it’s just then that Luke is presented with the prettiest image he’s ever seen. 

When his lips are numb and there’s a wet patch pressing against his sensitive cock in his briefs, Luke remembers the alcohol he has stashed within a bush. 

He presents it, feeling that same sense of pride spread through his chest whenever you seem delighted at the options, even though it’s just a box of hard seltzer one of his brothers snuck in at the beginning of the summer. When you ask him what it took to secure it, Luke brushes it off, not wanting to remember the poop scooping he’d doomed himself to. 

But the sight of you grinning before bringing the first sip of a cracked open can to your lips makes it all worth it. 

When you pull it away a bead of clear liquid snags on the corner of your lips. Luke’s eyes watch it glide down your chin, and before he can stop himself he reaches a hand out, once again feeling that bravery, and swipes his thumb at the liquid. 

He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, surprisingly pleased at the flavor. 

You both make your way through multiple cans, and it’s only when there’s a slight slur to your words and a sway to your frame that you ask Luke about your parents. And not about the stories you’ve been told throughout school, or the glorious recounts about how they’ve helped their kids. But the truth. About how Luke feels. 

And he turns to you, smiling gently, and begins to tell you, becoming more and more pleased as you begin to express the same outrage as him. 

He doesn't have to question if you'll be a valuable ally. He doesn't have to feed you carefully worded lines to twist your mind into siding with him.

With you, it's natural. The same as it is with him.

‎

It’s exactly a week later. Another capture the flag day created a certain buzz that flowed throughout camp. 

Earlier this morning, Luke was concerned about winning. That was before he found himself in a similar position as he did weeks ago. 

Standing next to you in a clearing, no other campers around to witness something that will certainly be a sight to behold. 

Just like before, you’re standing over a camper with your sword raised over his frightened frame. He’s pleading, but his words are useless. They fall to deaf ears. 

“No maiming!” He exclaims. “It’s the rules, remember?” His words are spoken with a stutter, the tremor in his voice extremely obvious. 

Briefly, Luke looks over to you only to find you already looking at him. 

You’re waiting, body tense, ready to attack. All you need is the command. 

“Do it.” 

There’s a rip and a scream, and Luke’s eyes don’t leave your frame. 

He watches the splatter of blood meet your cheek and for once, Luke doesn’t reach over to wipe it away. He leaves it there, leaving the evidence behind as he cups your face delicately, spreading his fingers to miss the crimson, and then using his hold to pull you close and press his lips to yours. 

Easily, quickly, you submit to him. 

You two haven’t shared things in the most intimate form, not yet at least, but he doesn’t need that with you. Looking in your eyes, seeing that same look that he sees in himself, Luke knows that having your legs spread around his hips with euphoria isn’t the most necessary thing in the world. He would love for it to happen, and he will revel in it when it does happen, but he knows that fucking you isn’t needed to guarantee your loyalty to him. 

As you submit to him, smelling of musk derived from hard work, the evidence of your effort on your face, Luke knows that he’s already secured it. 

He has your loyalty. 

And he can’t shake the excitement he feels towards your potential. Because he knows that the fire blazing deep inside of you can’t be contained for much longer. 

He just hopes your internal fire continues to work in his favor and never against it.

[celaenaeiln]

I want to talk about Dick Grayson's beauty, sex symbol status, and how it all connects for a moment.

This is a prelude to an upcoming post but I needed to include this separately because the other was getting too big.

First of all Dick Grayson is a beautiful man.

And you're probably thinking "well, no duh. Everyone knows that." but what I mean is Dick Grayson was intentionally made to be beautiful.

For a little historical context, around the late 1950s the culture in the US was changing. It was around this time, that people began exploring and accepting what they called a "feminine man".

This was really taking place in cinema and stuff where they began to show softer versions of men doing "typically female roles" as heroes.

One example is the movie "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance", a 1962 Hollywood film. In summary, it takes place in the midwest and is centered about Cowboys, gunslingers, the shebang. But the point is, there are two male leads in the movie - Ranse Stoddard (played by Jimmy Stewart) and Tom Donophon (played by John Wayne). Ranse and Tom are both the heroes in the film but with a key difference. Tom is like the sheriff of the town, loved by all and focusing his time on practicing his gun skills. The savior of women and normal people, he's the typical masculine hero. His face is rough and handsome. Ranse however was the new wave. He doesn't care about carrying the gun, he thinks it's uncouth and focuses much of his attention on sending the evil guy (Liberty Valance) to jail through laws. He doesn't want to kill and he takes a more advocative approach. He is also loved by everyone despite not being super masculine. Ranse's face is clean and almost dainty in comparison to Tom and Liberty Valance's.

Despite the complete opposites they are, both men are considered heroes. On one hand, you have the very male typical hero but on the other hand, you have the feminine male hero. At one point the evil guy laughs when Ranse walks in wearing an apron because serving tables is a "woman's job", but Ranse doesn't let it bother him.

How does this connect to Dick Grayson?

Dick Grayson is the feminine hero of DC. DC jumped on the pretty boy hero train.

That's also why in the Teen Titans (1966) comics, Dick keeps being referred to by endearingly feminine pet names by the titans which they seem to only use on him.

Standard gender roles: Men were expected to be strong, aggressive, and bold while women were expected to be polite, accommodating, and nurturing. Sound familiar about a certain duo?

But Dick? He plays both male and female gender roles in a time period where it wasn't socially acceptable to do so.

So my point is, Dick was created to blur the lines between gender and the way his character has progressed - he's meant to be the definition of a man opposite to male toxicity.

He can cook and do laundry whereas Bruce, the image of male dominance cannot.

This also falls into another role of Bruce and Dick's but it applies here as well in hindsight.

One thing people need to understand is that Dick was created to be the antithesis of Bruce Wayne. For all the gloominess that Bruce is Dick was meant to be the joy. He is the light to Bruce's darkness.

Which is why Dick often acts as the loving mother to the batfamily while Bruce acts as the stern father. Because Dick was created for the female role.

Part of the reason why I love Dick and Kory is because they do this at a time where girlbossing and malewifing wasn't a thing. Kori is consistently the dominant one when it comes to love in their relationship while Dick plays a softer, more "wife like" role. The way Kori is taller than Dick and buffer than him ✨

He is quite literally a queen consort - that is the role that Kori begs him to take after she is forced to marry someone her father picks out for her. But Dick refuses in tears because his morality cannot bear becoming a mistress and ruining someone else's marriage.

I know this is a long tangent but here's where the sex symbol comes in. Dick was created to be the most beautiful figure in DC but him being beautiful is not supposed to be confused with him being objectified.

Being beautiful is just something he was born as. What people do as a result has nothing to with DC

Take this for instance

He's literally just showering and comes out of the shower to find a random little girl singing about his and batman's identities. Creepy? Yes. Very much so. So he chases after her and finds her gone. Well there's nothing he can do now, he needs to go back and analyze what's going on and contact the other titans-

Crap.

Look at all the women that are ogling him, and even the ginger looks as if he doesn't know if he's jealous or wants to join - but there's nothing Dick did to make them do that. He's literally minding his own business and got caught outside. Did he hit on the women? Did he seduce them? Did he purposefully show off and make a loud commotion because he wanted the attention? No!

Arguing that Dick Grayson shouldn't be a sex symbol just seems wrong to me considering that it's not a fault of his.

It's like telling Kori not to have large breasts and telling Dinah not to wear fishnets.

People still ogle them regardless of how they dress because they're just that attractive. You can't tell someone to look a different way because you don't like the attention they're receiving...that's literally the opposite of everything people should be fighting for

Arguing that Dick Grayson being a sex symbol is a problem because he's too beautiful and blaming the actions of other characters for thinking so is just...

it's wrong.

He was created to be beautiful to fight male toxic masculinity. He's woman coded for a reason.

We should be embracing him. He represents everything male freedom should be about. He constantly placed in a female role, in female positions-

In queer positions-

He's acrobatic, slender, and sensual. He's gentle, loving, and beautiful.

When has the beauty of a person ever been a reflection of their character? The way fandom is going, it's implying that because female characters make sexualized comments about Dick's body, it's somehow Dick's fault for looking that way. We're blaming him for his "womanizing" ways as if he hasn't put his heart and soul into every relationship he's had. And while we're busy calling him a womanizer, we conveniently forget that the women he's in relationships with have significant personalities of their own. We inadvertently reduce their beings to plastic bags, ignoring that they have broken up with each other because of being unable to resolve conflicting beliefs, different career paths, different lifestyles, and more. It's not a one way road with our treatment of Dick. It's a two way street because we're harming both Dick and strong women like Kori, Barbara, Bea, Shawn, and Helena by pretending what they believe in and live for is unimportant in love.

Instead we should be exploring how the objectification might have an impact on Dick's mental health rather than blaming DC for using characters to describe how hot Dick is.

All the beautiful traits of Dick Grayson - his ambiguous sexuality, his overwhelming love for people, his affection for his friends, the way he cries and feels for others - all of it is beautiful, is it not?

From his very creation Dick was meant to be someone who breaks gender roles. The constant attraction he receives from both men and women in all of DC's media is evidence of that. The Grayson comics push the boundaries of his sexuality as much as DC will allow. To be queer without coming out with it. He is the feminine hero.

Everyone seems to hate that he's being called a sex symbol but why does that bother you? Dick Grayson IS the pretty girl of the comic universe. He IS the babygirl of DC.

DC has created the perfect view of what it's like to be a woman through Dick Grayson and we're spitting on the most accurate representation of a female that comics have ever created by blaming them for expressing what it's like to live as a woman.

[bitchlessdino]

put it in writing (m)

In collaboration with @camandemstudios Pairing: college student!seungkwan x Fem!TA!reader Genre: humor, smut Word count: 7.8k tags: college au, TA x student dynamic, push-and-pull, mentions of TXT's soobin, mentions of Ryan Gosling, a lot of fucking lying, explicit content, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cream pies, oral, cum-consumption, pet names (baby, good boy), praise kink Summary: You keep things professional--as you should--even if one of your students is someone you hooked up with one night before the college semester started. Meanwhile, Boo Seungkwan is anything but honest--he's a writer after all--but if he is honest about one thing, it's about wanting to write a new story with you. a/n: thank you @highvern @sluttyminghao and @strxwberry-skiess for beta reading <3 (late note: I wanna thank @gyuswhore @highvern and @haologram for the brainstorming if I forgot to mention anyone I’m sorry. They’ve been a really big help and we’re super motivating and supportive the entire process I love yall 💕)

You don’t go out. Period. As simple as that.

Until tonight. 

Summer is almost over, and once it ends, you’ll be Professor Yoo’s newest TA. You've worked hard to get to this point and despite the inevitable late-night grading sessions, you expect the experience to be rewarding and maybe even inspirational. You’re sure this achievement would make your academic-forward parents proud. Their daughter, at the top of her class, brimming with excitement and potential, jobs coming in from left and right, all while on her way to...a Writing degree. 

The one downside: they didn’t believe a writing degree would lead to anything substantial. Not like Biomedical engineering or Accounting. The one degree worse than Art. You almost forgot that writing was useless in their eyes because who couldn’t just pick up a pen and paper to scribble some words down?

You down another cheap shot of tequila, muttering your grievances under your breath as your friends revel in the club's pulsating atmosphere. They are only mildly concerned with your drinking habits, accustomed to your tightly wound, studious nature. Typically, you are the one buried in textbooks, rarely venturing into the party scene. Yet tonight, you surprise them all with your ironclad liver, effortlessly downing shots without a hint of a stumble.

“You, okay?”

You scoff, taking yet another shot, “Really depends what that means. ‘Okay’ as in life or ‘okay’ as in financially, mentally, emotionally, sexually, and-slash-or physically fulfilled with proud parents that love me unconditionally?”

“Oh, boy.” Hyeri tries to tear you away from any more alcohol and lays you flat against the back of the leather booth, twisting the top of a water bottle before putting it on your lips. “Let's get you hydrated, hmm? Can’t have you hungover the next day. I’ll be the one you’re complaining to.”

“Suffer my consequences!”

“Of course, darling.”

Hyeri, your steadfast friend since high school and now a new TA from another university, is like a sister to you. She knows your every habit and inclination, no matter how shit-faced you decide to get. “Don’t look, but there’s supple skin, high cheekbones, and a pretty smile looking directly at you.”

You subtly fix your gaze and accidentally meet the young man’s eyes as he nurses a highball glass between his lips. His eyes narrow back at you with interest. You muse back at him, mimicking his action with the water bottle in your grasp. As you drink with your eyes glued on his expression, the water passes over your lips, with the excess trickling suggestively down your chin and neck, your skin glistening in its sheen.

His lips part, dropping in a smug smile–and my, was it prettier than anticipated–and tilt his head as if quietly beckoning you closer. 

“I’m going over there.” 

Before you could get up from your booth, Hyeri is there to immediately tug you back down, eyes full of concern. “Are you sure, hon? You had quite a bit to drink.”

Your eyes crease as you smile back at her reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.”

“He looks young, he probably doesn't even know what a 401k is.”

“Do any of us?” You leave off before striding in the direction of the pretty boy, who still can’t keep his eyes off you.

You weave through the sea of sweaty bodies, sidestepping spilled drinks and the pulsating lights of the dance floor, your eyes locked on him. His gaze trails you with every step, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes, speaking to you like an incantation. When you finally reach his feet, the distance closing with each heartbeat, his smile grows wider, more inviting. The moment your legs brush against the softness of his leather couch, he leans to maintain your locked gaze, a now more playful glint in his eyes. Your smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Is this seat taken?”

“Only by you if anyone else asks,” he smoothly responds.

You gently lower yourself beside him, lifting one leg to cross it over the other, feeling the cool leather beneath you. His eyes follow your every movement, lingering on the curve of your thigh as it presses against the other. You lean in slightly, your curiosity evident in the arch of your brow. “Why all alone? With a face as pretty as yours, I’d expect someone to be all over you by now.”

He shifts his body toward you, his eyes drinking in your appearance, savoring every detail from the whip of your hair and to glitter on your legs. Meanwhile, the subtle spicy sweet scent of his cologne mingles with the ambient aromas of the club, and you can’t even breathe the air without the desire to jump his bones. Especially one in particular.

He regains his smile, a slow, confident curve of his lips, and extends a hand toward you. “I could say the same for you. I’m Seungkwan.”

You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch and the gentle caress of his thumb against your knuckles. With a graceful nod, you gave him a firm handshake. You return the gesture by introducing yourself, your voice smooth and inviting, matching the rhythm of the music that pulses around you, and that seems to only grow his interest. “What a pretty name. You’ve been here long?”

“Just long enough,” you say, your voice carrying a playful challenge.

“What is it that someone like you does to want to let loose in a place like this?”

“Mmh, I don’t know. It really depends on how much you’re willing to share,” you reply, narrowing your eyes and taking in that body begging to be undressed.

“Well, if you must know, I work somewhere…uncommon,” he says, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

You lean in too, resting your elbow on the back of the couch and propping your chin on your hand, your fingers lightly brushing your lips. “Do tell, Seungkwan.”

“Don’t be surprised, but I’m a bit of a big deal, especially around here,” he brags.

You raise an eyebrow, ready to bite. “That’s very vague. Mind elaborating?”

He briefly shifts his eyes to glance around the room, the smile never leaving his lips. He leans in closer, his breath warm and tickling against your ear, making it burn. “Just know I know the ins and outs of this club,” he whispers, his voice a tantalizing murmur. “Some information you might find even surprising that no one else knows.”

You pull back slightly, your eyes locking onto his, a spark of intrigue dancing between you. “Sounds like you’ve got some secrets,” you murmur, your voice low and rich. You reach for his drink from the table in front of you, your fingers brushing against his thigh for balance as you lift the glass to your lips. You take a slow, deliberate sip, not minding that its rim has touched a stranger's lips. “How sketchy,” you dare insult with a playful glint in your eye as you set the glass back down.

“Care to find out?”

“What part of ‘ sketchy’ did you not understand?” You softly laugh.

“I promise it’s harmless,” his voice brimming with mischief, poking the inside of his cheek playfully. “Or at least, you’d have a little fun.”

You hum amused. “Define fun.”

He takes you by the hand, his touch firm yet gentle, leading you away from the pulsating dance floor to a secluded corner of the club. The music echoes softly in the background, its bass reverberating through the walls. You follow him through a maze of dimly lit corridors and alcoves, catching glimpses of other partygoers lost in their own worlds.

The air changes as you enter an empty private space, cooler and quieter than the crowded main room. Your eyes fall on a single secluded corner with windows going ceiling to floor, flooding the room with skylight. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of alcohol and the crisp air of a cracked open window too high to reach.

As you settle into a seat in front of the windows, you observe the city through the crystal clear glass, drinking in the scene of small tables adorned with flickering candles, and erotic artwork adorning the walls. The music from the main floor is muted here like the world behind closed doors fell silent for this moment, and only you two are left in the room to bask in it. If temptation was room, this had to be it.

There’s a subtle shift in his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable—resembling pride—before they revert back to his calm suavity. He assumes the seat next to you on the plush velvet couch tucked into a private nook that touches the light of the stars. The soft glow of ambient lights casts a warm, intimate ambiance around you, contrasting with the pulsating beats of the club music that drifts in from the main floor.

“It’s a V.V.I.P area,” Seungkwan explains in a low voice, “Some of the employees don’t even know it exists.”

“But someone like you does?” you inquire, your voice tinged with intrigue.

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of pride evident in his demeanor as his body dipped into the leather. “I have my way around here.”

“Really?” you tease, growing slowly more convinced.

Seungkwan meets your gaze with a playful grin. “I obviously can’t tell you everything,” he says, his tone brimming with mischief. “Just know that I’m involved in ways that keep this place running smoothly. The club would die without me.”

You chuckle softly, savoring his playful confidence, and leaning against the cushions, head turned to him. “What can you tell me?” you ask, your voice growing softer. Your finger traces a teasing path down the collar of his shirt, undoing a button with deliberate slowness. “Humor me,” you exhale, your breath brushing against his ear and your gaze locked with his.

You can hear his breath hitch, and finally, you have him right where you want him. He fixes on the way your legs cross, tracing the curve of your calf up to where they disappear under the hem of your skirt. He seems momentarily captivated by the subtle movement of your flesh as they collide against each other, giving hardly any brain capacity to cumulate words.

You notice the furrow of his brow, a slight tilt of his head—as if he were mentally dissecting his thoughts. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes tried to regain clarity. You can almost visualize the gears turning in his mind, each cog clicking into place as he forms a coherent story, if any.

Each word comes out in complete shambles and he is saying more nothing than anything. Whatever the truth is at this point, you don’t care. Seungkwan is just too cute to pass up.

The clearing of his throat tells you he’s finished, the tilt of his smile growing less confident and more anxious as your weight pushes against his chest. He tries to come back from his stumble, picking off strands of hair in front of your face and playing with their ends before changing the subject. “Now tell me your work. What is so amazing that you do?”

“I’m—“ a teacher’s aid in massive debt on their way to graduating with potentially a useless degree neither of their parents is proud of because, although you love it,  you’re too proud to say otherwise, “—a indie movie producer with one of the films up for a reward. Super lowkey right now, but…we got Gosling.” You shrug, impressed with your own lies. “So, things are looking up.”

“That’s quite impressive.” he hums, intrigued and interested in hearing about more. “Is he as nice in real life as he is in interviews?”

“Ryan’s got a screw or two loose, but pretty okay guy. At least not into Scientology or anything.”

“Interesting,” He gaze dips towards you, being drawn to you immensely, if not locking eyes with you, scanning over your features, particularly your lips that wished to be claimed. “You call all big-name celebrities by their first name?”

You shrug, the lying coming more and more naturally than anticipated. “Only the ones I’m close with.”

His palm hugs the curve of your cheek, thumb softly brushing against your bottom lip. “I wonder what getting close to you entails.”

“Are you planning on finding out?”

You give each other a long look, one that keeps waiting and ushering the other until your lips decidedly crash into his. His lips part, making way for your presence, the heat of the kiss flushing your skin and pleased shivers running throughout your entire body. Your breath hitches when you feel his teeth pulling your flesh and a soft sigh escapes his lips before his hand creeps behind your head and muffles a moan that neither were sure from who.

You lift your body from the couch, chasing his pace, and pull him closer, kissing him deeper with all your might. You crawl over his lap, straddling his hips, hands in his hair, breath on his skin. Your chest tightens as he presses you closer by the small of your back, to which you gasp as you part from his lips.

He finds your gaze, his round and glistening eyes meeting yours in soft urgency. “You okay? Something wrong?”

You shake your head, palm clasped against your burning face. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He lets out an amused scoff. “Keep up, Miss producer.”

Your lips reconnect, and fireworks play in your like it’s the fourth of July. Popping and popping. Your lip lock only intensifies as your tongues brush against one another, entangling deeper and soon you realize Seungkwan wasn’t one just to kiss with his lips. 

You ball his clothes in fists when his hands use your hips, running them over his lap, the friction so tantalizing you could hear temptation like a devil on your shoulder. You let him take you, moving towards him replicating crashing waves against sand. Loud. Harsh. Seamless.

Clothes come off soon after, starting with the delicate unbuttoning of Seungkwan’s silk top–donning the torso of one fond of sports and sprayed in excitable perspiration–before then he levers you up and slides slacks down his thighs hurriedly. His bare legs crushed underneath yours, you readily pull up your dress, bunching at your waist as feel him unzip the back, the metal chill against your spine.

“Fuck,” he softly mutters, eagerly digging his fingers in your exposed flesh and whimpering against your kiss. “Don’t hold back with me.”

“Hold back?” you repeat with a chuckle, your fingers that threaded through his hair pulling his head back, angling his head so that he was forced to look up at you in what currently looks to be in awe. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

“Shit stirrer, huh? I guess that’s why you’re the one handling production.”

Your lips begin to trail down his jaw, front teeth nipping his skin. “Real question is, would you let me handle yours?”

“I’d let you do anything to me,” he mumbles, earnest in every word, every inch of his body vibrating off yours, including the hardening presence between his legs pressing against your stomach. “Just don’t stop.”

Your dress abandoned on the floor, Seungkwan claiming your tits in either hand, kneading them between his fingers as he’s rolling his hips against your plush flesh and feeling your radiating core slide against his shaft. He involuntarily moans through a bitten bottom lip, imagining you ride him just like this until the end of time, thinking he could cum from this alone until he feels you move the tip of his size towards your entrance. “Oh god,” he gives out, the head of his cock readily grazing over your slit, quickly pleased. “So fucking wet. Fuck…”

“I want you inside me,” you admit, not bothering to subdue your desires. “I want to put you inside me and make me feel every inch of you.”

“Fuck…me…” he presses into your skin flushed against one another, lips curled downward in impatience, gripping your full thighs to either of his sides. “I wanna fuck you so bad. Please give yourself to me.”

“You promise you’ll handle it like a good boy?” You tease, pushing his tip only a centimeter deeper.

“Please, please, anything. I just wanna feel that pussy choke me please.” He begs.

Your hand clamps against the couch enthusiastically, “Fuck you’re so needy. That’s so hot.” Gingerly, you reward his pleas, feeling his raw length make contact with your contracting walls, squeezing around his girth and making Seungkwan flip his eyes before he starts guiding your hips.

“Fuck that’s so good, baby.”

You lightly scoff. “Baby? A little soon don’t you think?”

“Thought we found some common ground when you decided for me to fuck you. My mistake,” he chides.

You catch a tendril of his hair between your fingers, “Maybe it’s how you fuck me that grants you such a term of endearment.”

“Better up my game then.” He lifts you up, tangling your legs around his waist before he pushes you on your back, swiftly slamming his hips against you.

Your head crashes deep into the leather, the musky scent of sex now invading your nose as you drown in heat. “Shit.”

“Making sure I get the advantage.” He folds forward to press against you, your breasts back in his hands before his lips wrap around a nipple, his tongue attacking your sensitivity before he inevitably sucks. He leaves you in an ache, your hips thrusting back into him conveniently in time for him to regain his rhythm.

“S-Seungkwan…”

His moan vibrates against your skin, teeth pulling your nipple as he thrusts deeper, grazing your deep end just perfectly not enough. Fucking tease.

You whine beneath him, squirming. Your legs tighten around him, attempting to make friction, and finding a growl in your throat as a hand of Seungkwan’s squeezes your behind. A whole ass cheek in the clutches of his well-groomed hands, squeezing and memorizing its swell, while he’s splitting you in half to deduce you to a bumbling horny mess.

“Where have you been all my life?” He mumbles with glee.

You clench your fists behind him as he heightens his pace, melting into the tender assault of his lips that burn your skin and silence your voice. He ruts into you deeper, pounding away his frustrations and when he makes it known he’s found your spot, you make it clear as day.

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping him tighter. Your jaw drops slack, silent screams coming out of you, and you cling to him like in desperation to maintain that high as you claw against his broad back.

“That’s so good. Is it right there, am I hitting your spot, baby?” he asks with an exhausted grin.

You nod, softly pleading for more, and he generously grants. In an attempt to intensify your core’s pleasure, his hand cups just above your slit, fingers finding your blossoming bud. Your breath is shot, feeling the caress of his thumb press down before rubbing your arousal around your clit. Your hips thrust into his touch, gripping him by the shoulders, feeling your combined sweat drip from your sides and squeaking against the couch fabric.

“Oh my god, oh my god…” You can’t control it anymore. Seungkwan isn’t just pushing you past the edge, he's shoving you off.

“Like that, baby. Yes, what good girl cumming all over my cock,” he sweetly praises.

You reach him by the back of his head and propel him forward, colliding lips in a fervent liplock. Your moans drowned between one another, your climax coming in tenfold as he didn’t for a second stop, even well after you came. 

Yet, it isn’t enough. Seungkwan shifts and tugs your legs to border his torso. He lifts himself from the ground, his feet flat, shutting your legs tight, having the sweat of your thighs chafe against another unsettlingly. It then becomes completely overlooked with his hips, his cock starts pushing in and out of you, and folding himself into you with your closed legs as your pussy choked around his cock. Your walls pulsating around him, hot and lush, he death grips your body and watches your flesh recoil back against him deliciously. 

“Fucking shit,” he groans, plunging deeper as your cries moisten your cheeks and he brings you to a foreign level of ecstasy. 

His release from what you can tell is thick, warm, and inviting. Your legs find a mind of their own when they decide to lock the stranger in place, feel every ounce of pure pleasure shooting down inside you, coating you in your collaborative efforts, and residing peacefully deep, deep in your sore heat. 

Your lover collapses against you, eyes barely managing to open as he guides your bodies in a more comfortable position, his cum and cock still inside you. 

He’s softly pant, red on every inch of his face, residual from his raging orgasm and…fluster? “I…I don’t usually—“

“I don’t mind,” you gently reassure, brushing away the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “I wanted that to happen.”

“But what if—“

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” you hint and fortunately he gets the clue, cuddling up to you closer.

“Good.” He nods, sounding off in relief.

You play with his ear, thumbing over the flaming red tip. “That was really good.”

The boy can’t help but grin, “I make good on my promises…and if you want, we can do it again.”

Your movement stops. “Oh.” Now you’re panicking. “I don’t think we should.”

His cock slips out of you with ease at your confession, both flaccid and disappointed as cum drips down the leather. “Why not? I thought you liked it.”

You begin sitting up, taking Seungkwan with you. “Of course I do! It’s just…my schedule doesn’t allow me to date—let alone see people outside of work—so, this wouldn’t work.” You offer him an apologetic pat on the back, feeling the muscles pulse against you before you regretfully pull away. “This is actually my last night in town, I was gonna leave soon for another shoot…but this was wonderful.”

You cup his cheek, flushed red and soft as can be, and kiss its fullness, letting your lips linger. “I’m so sorry.” For absolutely lying about everything about me when you gave me the most incredible orgasm I’ve had in centuries and to myself for cutting lose the hottest fucking man fiction and nonfiction you’ve ever fucking met.

“No, I get it,” he answers, a hint of sorrow in his gaze. “You got things going for you. That’s ok. Just let me know when you’re in town, hmm? We can get together again, maybe?”

His sense of hope is admirable, something you saw in yourself a few years ago before the toppling towers of crippling debt fell on you. “I don’t think so, handsome.”

He sighs. “Alright. I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head with a knowing smile. “Don’t be.”

“You ended my vacation the best way you could’ve,” you egg on, “Couldn’t have ended my last night in town any better.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, finally a light flickering back in his eyes. “Then maybe I can give you a parting gift.”

You raise an eyebrow, following his figure leaving your body and find his knees back in the ground and between your legs, “Seungkwan?”

“Can’t have you leave a mess.” His hand glides over your thighs, gaze flickering from you and your cunt oozing in cum, and his full lips kissing your inner thigh, tingling legs and garnering goosebumps down your shins.

“Are you actually—“

His tongue scraps on the skin just next to your lips, a mixture of your climax settling on his tongue, and you mewl at the sight. He kneads your flesh, his moans tickling your skin and admiring it how he knew how: worship.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His fingers play against your sensitive folds, tension pressed on your clit. “You’re everything I could want…tasting you and pleasing you is the least I could do.”

His mouth wrapped around your lips before sucking, tongue parting what’s between, and sighing at the harmonious flavor dancing inside his mouth. Your worn walls contract around him, it feeds his desire as he pushes his face deeper inside you, and melts at your hands finding hair in soft strokes. 

Your voice aches for another release. The sensation of his jaw locking and nodding in your heat as his tongue fucks his cum back inside you drives you to up a wall. You squirm the faster he flicks his tongue, legs pulling back and forward, overwhelmed by Seungkwan’s mouth until he holds either one at either side, locking it around his neck.

His eyes ooze with determination and his face falls from color. The compromising position he put himself in is not one free consequence, but for the last single of the most greatest fuck of his life, losing a bit of oxygen was worth it, and his efforts are soon proven.

When you cum this time on his tongue, Seungkwan has never tasted anything sweeter, or rather bittersweet knowing this would be the last he’d get the chance to. He’s tasting you, savoring you, worshiping you. From the scent of your body, to the face you make, from what you feed him. If he knew how impossibly decadent you just were–only for you to leave–maybe he wouldn’t have done this. Or maybe he would.

Reluctantly, Seungkwan breaks apart from your lips to reconnect with another. One last shared, heated breath of this spontaneous exchange. One that he’d remember for a long time, and think about over long nights. Tenderly, your foreheads are the ones to kiss in a silent farewell, sad smiles on both your faces.

“Thank you…for reminding me what it feels like to live my own life.”

The pretty boy softly scoffs, kissing you once more, the tingle his lips lingering on yours. “Make your stories magical as you’ve made my night. Take care, Miss Producer.”

You quickly get dressed before the sexy stranger pulls you right back in his trace and you drag your friend and club attendee all the way back home, giving you the pleasure of finally resting in bed, body still aching from the sweltering sex hours ago. Sadly, without the warm body you enjoyed so much tonight. He made a lasting impression on you and you hope maybe one day on better circumstances you’ll meet again and the lie may someday be true. If you’re so lucky.

Eventually, summer takes its final laps and you’re entering the college semester and start working closely with the professor you’re aiding. The matter that your life is slowly being sucked away becomes more real the longer you look at his lesson plan and although you love writing, you know you’re about to dread the long evenings of paperwork to come. 

The first day of being a TA: get in the building by the car you have barely hanging on, meet with the professor, get in lectures and “TA”, skim through your new work for graduate classes, and sadly eat your late lunch/dinner alone because you know the ziplock of trail mix marinating in your backpack would not be enough. That’s the plan. Easy to follow.

Students start trickling into the classroom about twenty minutes before actual lecture time, some with nervous faces and excited expressions. Then a few minutes before the lecture starts, hoards of students are coming through, the classroom getting louder and louder as there is not enough space for white noise. You feel your heart beating increasingly–admittedly more nervous than anticipated–finding yourself focused on papers to avoid eyes with the other students until you can’t anymore.

With over 100 students, you start to feel like an imposter, a kid playing dress-up in her mom’s closet. Normally, you're not one to get nervous on the first day, but being a teacher’s assistant makes this situation different. You’re terrified of screwing up, whether it’s a big mistake or a small one. You tell yourself you need to get out of your head.

When roll call becomes necessary, the professor hands you the clipboard, forcing you to introduce yourself and make your presence known. Your hands tremble from natural nerves as you call out the names on the list, doing your best to pronounce each one clearly and coherently. Then your gaze lands on a name all too familiar, one that’s been on the tip of your tongue before. You can’t help but look up, eager to hear the voice that responds.

He stares at you, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, his lips curling up at the corners as his eyes gleam with intrigue—just like that night before.

You clear your throat, quickly averting your gaze, and resume roll call. You decide right then to ignore him for the rest of the day, the semester, and possibly the rest of your college career, if you can help it.

When you finish, you don’t dare look up again, telling yourself it’s because it’s the first day. You’ve done everything you needed to do for now.

As the lecture wraps up, it’s time to leave. The professor dismisses the class and exits the room, leaving you to pick up the pieces and answer any lingering questions from students. You just hope this particular student isn’t one of them.

“I had a question, Miss LN.”

You’re reminded that hope is just another word for wishful thinking. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. His voice is already etched into your memory, feeding the part of you that wants to respond, and you clench your thighs at the memory.

“Sure, what… um, what is it?” you respond, still not looking up.

“It’s about the syllabus. I was hoping we could discuss it in private?” His tone carries a hint of something familiar, something that doesn’t belong between a student and a teacher’s assistant.

“The syllabus is pretty self-explanatory,” you reply, trying to keep your voice neutral, though your pulse quickens.

“But I wanted to ask, just in case I misinterpreted anything.”

You make a show of straightening the papers on your desk, the crisp shuffle loud enough to make it clear you’re not amused. “You're a writing major. I’m sure you understand everything just fine.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check,” he says, a casual shrug masking the intent behind his words.

You sigh, knowing you won’t easily shake him off. Finally, you meet his gaze, catching the anticipation simmering in his eyes. With a resigned breath, you gather your belongings and stand. “Fine, follow me.”

As you lead him to a tucked-away corner, your footsteps echo in the quiet hallway. You glance around to ensure there are no prying eyes before stopping. He waits until you’re both out of sight before speaking, his voice lowering in that familiar way that sends a shiver down your spine. “So, how’s the indie film coming along, Miss Producer?”

Your arms cross instinctively, a barrier against the playful look on his face. His eyes sparkle with amusement, as if this is all a game to him. As if your college career and your career career didn’t hang on the very balance of this conversation and your history. “Very funny,” you reply, glaring at him. “Just two big liars caught in their own webs of lies. How serendipitous.”

He chuckles softly, the sound unnervingly familiar and instinctively arousing. “I know why I lied, but why did you?”

You plant a hand to your chest defensively. “Excuse me, I never anticipated seeing you ever again. It’s natural I’d lie—wait, why did you lie?”

“To get laid. Duh.” He answers as if it was the obvious thing in the world.

You roll your eyes, back knocking against the wall behind you. “Of course, fucking dumbass college boys.”

“You fell for it, so who’s the dumbass now?”

“Still you? Were you even drinking age?”

“Uh, yes that’s how I got in, otherwise they never would’ve let me in.”

Your palm runs over your face in embarrassment, cringing for long nights of thinking of your student of all fucking people. “I fucking knew you didn’t own the Gemstone.”

“Yet, you fucked me anyway.”

You rush towards him, your breath catching as you pin your fingers in front of your lips and hiss, “Will you shut your mouth?”

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Why? You’re a TA, not a professor.It’s perfectly kosher.”

“It’s still highly frowned upon to fraternize in that manner, regardless of whether I’m a TA or a professor. I grade your fucking papers,” you shoot back, your eyes narrowing as the frustration rises in your chest.

He just shrugs, that infuriating grin never leaving his face. “Hey, if it gets me a good grade…”

“Or watch me fucking fail you,” you snap, stepping even closer, your voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever speak a word about that night again, got it?”

His smile falters slightly, but he quickly recovers, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, geez.”

“Good.”

But he can’t resist one last jab, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “My lips—and pants—are sealed.”

“Seungkwan!” You hiss his name, barely keeping your voice down, your cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and something else you refuse to acknowledge.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, it’s been a while since you screamed my name.”

You grit your teeth and speak through harsh whispers, your patience wearing thin. 

“I will drop-kick you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He grins wider, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans in just a fraction. “Like I said, I keep my promises. See you on Wednesday, Miss TA.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, seething, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hallway. The air still buzzes with the tension between you, and you take a moment to collect yourself before heading back, wondering how you’re going to survive the rest of the semester with him in your class. If all your encounters are like this, you might as well quit now.

As expected, that initial confrontation isn’t the last you see of Seungkwan. While being your student, your forced interactions have become a bit of a spectacle among other students, especially considering Seungkwan stares back at you every lecture like you’re the only two people in the room. His routine of pestering during and after lectures has become something his peers have look forward to and you wonder if this kind of thing is normal for a teacher’s assistant.

It seems to have stirred up varying opinions, even among students from other classes—ones far removed from your department, who typically wouldn’t give a second thought to your work. The rumors have even reached the ears of other TAs, the ones you’ve built strong camaraderie with, turning casual conversations into whispered speculations. Some of those speculations have been harmless, fueled by curiosity and mild intrigue. But others? They’ve taken on more confrontational, and their tense gazes have you questioning just how far these rumors have gone.

But is it really a rumor if its all true?

"So, you and that Seungkwan kid, what's that about?"

You give a grand sigh, the weight of your colleague's curiosity pressing down on you as he peers at you, eyes alight with nosy mischief. His intent is clear—he's fishing for details about your relationship with one of your many students. But Seungkwan is different. Far different, even if you’d never admit that aloud knowing how your reputation would stand.

"Really not your business, bud," you reply, trying to keep your tone light, though it’s hard to miss the edge beneath your words.

Your colleague, Soobin, raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed by your attempt to shut him down. "Funny enough, I’m in the business of making things my business."

You scoff, fingers curling tightly around the handle of your freshly brewed coffee, the warmth of the cup your only source of comfort in this conversation. The rich aroma wafts up, offering a brief distraction. "He's my student, obviously, and he’s going to stay that way."

The words come out sharper than intended, the finality of your tone surprising even you. You take a long sip of the coffee, letting the bitterness anchor you. This conversation is tiptoeing too close to a line you’re not ready to cross.

Soobin raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "Okay, okay. No need to be so defensive. Good thing you’re keeping it professional."

"I know that. Why are you mansplaining, Soobin? Don’t you have work to do?"

"Of course. Just wanted to point out—it’d be a real problem if you did."

"Uh, yeah. Obviously."

"Good."

"Good."

"I just wouldn’t want to lose anything over it."

You narrow your eyes at him. "What now?"

He hesitates before continuing, grinning sheepishly. "Okay, okay. There might be a bet going around about whether or not you and that kid sleep together again."

"What the—again? Again? What are you talking about?" You gape at him, incredulity painting your features as you struggle to process his words.

"Oh, come on, don’t play dumb," Soobin says with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. "Everyone knows."

You blink, your mind racing to catch up. "…Everyone?"

"Everyone." He nods emphatically, the corners of his mouth twitching as he takes in your stunned reaction.

Your face falls, and you run a hand through your hair in frustration, your shoulders slumping. "Well, fuck." The words escape you like a dismayed exhale, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"And I bet that you wouldn’t. At least, not until the end of the semester."

"You bet  money on me?" You’re seething, anger now directed at him.

"Not money," Soobin says quickly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, as if to ward off any further criticism. He leans in slightly, his tone taking on a pleading edge. "But seriously, just don’t do it, okay? Be a good TA and a good friend. Don’t sleep with the boy. Just... don't."

You glare at him, incredulous. "I oughta do it just to make you lose."

"Please don’t! It wasn’t money I bet!"

You narrow your eyes further. "What did you bet, then?"

Soobin shifts uncomfortably. "Just... test answers."

"Soobin."

"Please! Just help me win this. I’m begging you!" Soobin’s voice is desperate, his eyes wide and pleading.

“You could jeopardize your scholarships with this kind of bet.”

“So don’t let me lose this one!” His frustration is palpable, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“I could just hit you,” you threaten, though the words come out more resigned than menacing.

“But I’m so lovely. Don’t you think?” Soobin’s attempt at levity falls flat, his forced grin barely concealing his anxiety.

“Soobin, this is seriously messed up.”

He continues, undeterred, “The money I could win could buy me a new apartment to rent out. I’d finally be able to move off-campus.”

“This is so fucked up,” you mutter, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I know, I’m literally on my knees here, dude,” Soobin says, lowering himself as if pleading for mercy.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to stave off the growing irritation. “Fine, damn it. Okay. I hope you’ve fucking learned your lesson and won’t pull this kind of stunt again.”

You meet his gaze head-on, your patience visibly thinning. "Are we done here?"

He nods vigorously, a small, almost imperceptible smile of relief tugging at the corners of his lips. "Of course."

As Soobin walks away, you watch him go, the remnants of the conversation hanging in the air like the fading scent of coffee. You take another sip of your drink, this time more deliberately, letting the warmth seep into you. You try to channel your remaining energy into something productive, determined to salvage what’s left of your day. The knowledge of the bet and the weight of your friend’s reputation hanging in the balance makes every decision weigh heavy on your shoulders.

Despite the sprawling campus and the vast number of students, gossip is as vibrant and pervasive as ever. Seungkwan doesn’t help matters, especially with the frequent discussions you’re having about his late assignments. No matter how stern and resolute your tone becomes, he meets you with a gaze that’s both wistful and enigmatic. His eyes, filled with a mix of wonder and intrigue, follow your every movement. They start by meeting yours directly, then drift downward, lingering on your face, then lower, then lower, and finally–

"Are you paying attention, Seungkwan? Or am I going to have to talk to Professor Yoon about you finally dropping the class?"

Seungkwan leans against the auditorium chairs, averting his attention to the sharp expression on your face, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "No, nothing of the sort, Miss TA. Please, continue to lecture me about what an awful student I am."

Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms, forward on your desk, tapping your foot with growing impatience as you shuffle through to gather your belongings. "I will—and starting where your assignments have been showing up several days late. I can’t keep making exceptions for you."

"Why not? You’re so good at making me feel special," he teases, head tilted, his voice dripping with a sultry sarcasm.

Your patience snaps as you sharply tap the stack of aligned papers on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Stop it, will you? Your grade is sinking fast, and at this rate, you’ll be repeating the class."

He shrugs, that maddening grin still in place. "Would that really be so bad? You’d get a whole new semester with me."

You scoff, standing upright, pacing a few steps as frustration simmers just beneath the surface. "Are you seriously going to waste your tuition money just to fail? At least pretend to make an effort. Chatgpt exists for students like you I’m assuming."

He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "If only someone wasn’t so distracting, maybe I could. You’d understand, Miss TA."

You stop mid-step, spinning to face him, your voice sharp. "Enough. And stop calling me that—it’s like you get off on it."

"Oh, I do." The playful tone in his voice is laced with something else now, something heavier.

Your jaw clenches, heat rising to your face, thighs sealed against one another.. "Your assignments. On time. By the end of this week, or I’ll recommend to Professor Yoon that you drop the class."

"Fine," he mutters, his tone nonchalant, the smirk still lingering lazily on his lips as he halfheartedly stuffs his books into his bag. His movements are careless, and a few sheets of notebook paper slip out, drifting lazily to the floor without him even noticing.

You sigh, bending down to pick them up. As you straighten, your eyes unintentionally flick over the handwritten lines—only for something to catch your attention. You freeze, blinking at the words on the page. "What the...?"

Seungkwan’s demeanor changes in an instant. His eyes widen, and he lunges forward, panic flashing across his face. "Don’t read that!" His voice is more urgent, almost desperate.

But you dodge his grasp, holding the paper just out of reach, your brow furrowing. "What is this? And why is it actually... interesting?"

"Give it back," he says, his tone softer, pleading now. 

"Why don’t you put this much effort into your assignments?" you ask, glancing up at him, your curiosity overtaking your frustration.

Before you can react, Seungkwan steps closer, his movements more deliberate this time. He snatches the paper from your hands, but his proximity catches you off guard. He’s standing close—too close—backing you into the edge of your desk. His face is flushed, his breath coming in shallow bursts, and you can see the embarrassment in his narrowed eyes, the tips of his ears burning red.

Your heart stutters in your chest, your breath hitching as the space between you seems to shrink. The air feels thick, charged with something you know too fucking well. For a moment, neither of you moves, your eyes locked like you’re frozen. You’re acutely aware of every small detail—the way his fingers clutch the paper tightly, how his chest rises and falls with each breath, the warmth radiating from him as he towers just slightly over you.

Suddenly, he stumbles, his foot catching on the leg of the desk, and you gasp as his weight nearly knocks you backward. Your hands shoot out, gripping the edge of the desk to steady yourself. Your glasses slip down your nose as you blink up at him, your pulse quickening, his face inches from yours.

"Sorry," Seungkwan mutters, quickly pulling away, flustered as he hurriedly gathers the fallen papers, stuffing them into his bag. "I’ll do the assignments. Just... don’t fail me. And don’t repeat whatever you think you read."

Without waiting for your reply, he storms out of the room, leaving you standing there, your chest heaving, the ghost of his presence lingering in the suddenly too-quiet space.

You try to steady your breath, ignoring how ragged it had become, and the unsettling way your blood pulsed—not just through your heart, but in places you'd rather not acknowledge. You forcefully push those thoughts aside, desperate for any distraction. Tonight, that distraction would be class assignments.

With an iced coffee marinating at the corner of your office desk, the papers in front of you blur as his face flashes through your head. You can’t help but recall the way his lips looked—full and slightly parted, the way his eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and something else entirely. And the warmth of him—how heavy and undeniably right he felt as he leaned over you, his presence lingering even after he was gone.

You shake your head, determined to refocus on grading, gripping the red pen a little tighter. But your mind drifts again, this time to the words you’d glimpsed on that crumpled page. The writing had a familiarity to it, something deeply personal that tugged at the corners of your mind. Reminding you of how much you remembered that night. Specifically how good that night felt.

‘Her whispers, haunting, breath heavy. She gazes at me with eyes full of want, strands of hair falling over her forehead, tantalizing and wild. Her cheek is warm beneath my hand as I pull her closer, our lips meeting, tasting the sweetness of something long desired but never claimed. For this night, she is mine—even if it's only for this night alone.’

Your cheeks flush as the memory hits, the realization settling in with a mix of shock and something you can't quite name. The words were unmistakable—vivid, intimate, dripping with a desire that mirrored the tension between you two. You recognized the inspiration behind them immediately.

He’s writing his own fanfiction. And it’s about you.

Suddenly, you’re not so much thinking about the bet Soonbin warned you about.

[gladiatorcunt]

Would modern!coryo like being called daddy? Like reader is all dumb from him overstimulating them and it just slips out.. how would he react?

This is so me, like i’m scared of this happening. no one has made me cum tho so i’m probably safe

╰ • ✫ - ❛LILY OF THE VALLEY!❜ ✎ᝰ.

cw: daddy kink, typical coryo warnings, reader is so baby in this and he’s so bf like 😖, school stress, cunnilingus like he EATS you out to the bone fr, pain play, mentions of blood kink and piss kink, pet play coded, unedited porn for the soul, afab reader, THIS ONE GOES TO OUT TO ALL MY FREAK MODERN!CORYO TRUTHERS, reader and coryo at their most real, pretentious use of latin pet names, hinted breeding kink

You’ve been keeping it to yourself for so long, still wallowing in the idea that you should be shy about your kinks. You’ve never had a partner like Coryo before, you haven’t had a partner, period. Normally you just muffled it into a pillow while you fingered yourself to an unsatisfying orgsm and called it a day. But now you had an insatiable boyfriend with a sizable sadistic streak… among other things.

Are Daddy kinks the worst thing someone could be into? No, and you know that perfectly well. You also know that there’s enough stigma around it for you to keep it yourself. You didn’t need conversations about “daddy issues” or creepy men who assumed that that information gave the green light to do whatever they wanted to your body.

You had never admitted this to Coryo, but one of the reasons you were so nervous about your first time was because you knew it was only a matter of time before it slipped out. All the rumors and spilled stories from his past flings and hookups (things you prefer to not let get to you too much) made it even more clear that if anyone could drag that out of you, it was him.

It’s a miracle you didn’t blurt it out during your first time, you were so fucked out he could’ve told you that you said anything and you would’ve believed him. No, despite Coryo’s casual dominance that is apparent in how he pecks your lips after every bite you take from the fancy finger food held in his hands, your secret is kept safe.

That is… until the stress of assignments piling up builds up to a boiling point, and you’re left sobbing into your boyfriend’s chest.

“Shh, petal, get it all out.” He hums, slowly dragging his fingertips up and down your shaking back. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t calm down, baby. Let’s take some deep breaths, okay?”

“Okay..” You heave.

Coryo gently pulls your hair and directs your forehead to knock against his. It startles you out of your teary state for a moment, you blink in confusion and he chuckles. His eyes are so warm, they could set you on fire right there on his lap. His hold on your head doesn’t let up, and you sniffle as you place your hands on his chest.

He directs you to breathe with him, “One… two… three… four… hold it… now breathe out through your mouth, do that a few times with me, alright, dove?”

“One… two… three… four…” You repeat his words, which helps you center your focus on the pure love in Coryo’s stunning eyes.

After every set Coryo makes a childish ‘woosh’ sound, purposefully blowing hot air into your face. It has the intended result and he grins triumphantly at your watery giggles. Once he’s calmed you down enough, he’s leaping into action and raining down an army of kisses all over your cute face.

You’re too sensitive for it, but he wants to tease you for being “Daddy’s little crybaby” so fucking bad. This isn’t the moment though, perhaps when it’s something different, like tears of joy because of how much your engagement ring sparkles in the sunlight.

Yeah, he knew before you came right out and said it, have you forgotten who exactly you’ve promised your soul to? Don’t be silly.

After a certain point the sticky kisses become more and more heated, and by the time he reaches your lips he’s pressing your mouths together. Coryo slowly tilts your head to the side, opening up your mouth and lazily sucking your tongue. Like you always do, you start bucking your hips against his crotch in short and subconscious movements. He smirks into the kiss, pulling away to speak.

“I bet I know just the thing to get you all fixed up, huh petal?” He coos, nodding your head for you. “Come on then, up you go. Don’t trip on your way to the bedroom.”

That’s just the start of his well intentioned meanness, that and the spank he gives your ass as you obediently hop up from the couch and speed walk to the bedroom. You’ve gotten so thirsty for him in the months you’ve been together, he’s almost proud.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t to feel your brain leaking out of your ears and Coryo’s pink tongue deep in your puffy pussy.

Your hips are kept pinned to the bed by his nails clawing into your flesh, you’re honestly surprised you haven’t started bleeding but you wouldn’t mind if you did. He jabs his tongue again and you squirm, attempting to kick your legs out on instinct. Coryo tightens his grip on your hips, smacking your inner thighs and digging his nails in your hips even further.

It’s his mission to tear you apart in any way possible, in every way. A small hidden part of you is soothed at the reminder that there are some things you never have to ask for. He already knows, he’s the best like that.

Coryo stops tongue fucking you to spit on your clit, staring all wide eyed and whorish up at you as he gives it little licks. You whine when he doesn’t adjust his slow pace, wishing you were in love with someone who didn’t like teasing you as much as he adored spoiling you rotten.

You ruffle his blonde curls, pouting and having a fit. He smacks your thighs harder and scratches lines down your legs as he purses his lips around your clit. He honest to god somehow laughs as he latches on the swollen bud and firmly sucks. In between sucks, his tongue roughly plays with your now throbbing clit, viciously slapping it around like it wants to beat it up.

“Fuck-fuck-uhhhhhhhhh-you’re gonna make me cum-Daddy-shit, yes-just like that, Daddy, just like that just like that-oh my god, Daddy!”

Your squealing makes him laugh again, and when he registers your slip up, he clutches onto you so hard his nails break skin and blood starts trickling down your body.

He pats the area where your womb is a couple times, a silent ‘Good dove’ that goes straight to your core. You’re lucky you aren’t ovulating right now, or the sheets would be even more soaked than they already are. His eyes narrow at the little pouch on your tummy and there’s the slightest hint of teeth in his sucking, but he backs off to spit on your dripping pussy again.

“Mmm-that’s all sweet pets need to do right? Lie back and drool from every hole for their Daddies?” He asks, nuzzling the patch of pubic hair at the top of your mound and taking a deep whiff.

And you’re so good for him, you don’t even need a warning glare or a fierce hit upside the ass.

“Yes-yes, Daddy-um-um- ‘m your bunny-all for you, Daddy.” You pant as you try to catch your breath.

“Glad you’re smart enough to know that, baby.” Coryo bites the skin over your womb, caressing the indents of his teeth. “Never have to doubt my intelligent little flower, do i?”

“Nuh uh, Daddy.” You shake your head in agreement so fast you get dizzy, and he smiles before bringing his attention back to your warm pussy.

He flattens his tongue and licks fat stripes over your folds like a wild animal giving his mate a tongue bath. Simultaneously meant to induce arousal and bring comfort to his partner. He winks at you several times and regularly darts up to french kiss your aching clit, burrowing his nose so deep in your slutty pussy.

The sensual nature of it has your eyes rolling back, and this time you’re the one being savage, your bedazzled extra long acrylics make a mess of his shoulders. He lets your trembling legs go, keeping you in place by his raw determination to literally eat your heart out. His curls bound and fly as he shakes his head vigorously, pushing your clit and hood back with his thumb so he can focus on slurping your slick from your hole like it’s his job.

“No no no-stop, please-fuck- ‘m gonna make a mess-feels like i have to pee, Daddy- shit shit-no, Daddy wait ‘M GONNA!-”

Your orgasm rudely cuts you off, and you gush on Coryo’s mouth. You always say shit like that when you squirt, but you never know when your boyfriend wants your words to be true. You squirt until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, and you collapse against the bed in a huff. Coryo laps up your release with his signature pleased grin, he’s so glad to put you in your place and give you what you deserve. Trust him, petal, he’ll never fail you when it comes to that.

You don’t speak, you’re still twitching and coming down from your euphoric high. Coryo lays his hands on either side of your head and cages you in, hovering above you and cooing loads of praises and sweet nothings into your sweaty hairline.

“How about it? Feeling any better, dove?” He gingerly delivers the question with a loose hand around your throat and a quick squeeze to your tit.

You lean into the barely there pressure on your throat, too out of it to be embarrassed, “Uh huh, thank you, Daddy. ‘Love you.”

“Oh you are so very welcome, mellilla (little honey). Daddy loves you too, more than your bunny brain could ever imagine, don’t you ever forget that.”

It's 2 am by the time you’ve come back to earth. Coryo makes you pancakes with your favorite strawberry syrup after you eagerly show him your appreciation in the shower. He wipes your mouth clean when you’re done with the star shaped pieces. You fall asleep during an elimination on MasterChef, but he’ll rewind it for you tomorrow.

if you liked this, consider leaving a tip or commissioning me !

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; zestial

requested by ; anonymous (13/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; zestial

outline ; “can you do general relationship headcanons for Zestial?”

note ; characterisation is likely very shaky as we haven’t seen much of him so far in the series

warning(s) ; some canon typical references to violence, but mostly fluff!

though he may be a terribly imposing demon and an overlord with a reputation and presence that demands respect and fear, when it comes to your relationship zestial is nothing short of a complete and utter gentleman

he’s very traditional in his displays of affection, as one might expect, which means you’ll be on the receiving end of many of the following gestures (amongst many, many others along the same lines): him draping his outercoat over your shoulders if you complain about feeling cold or are wearing something that’s drawing a bit too much attention for his liking, him walking you home from every date just so you feel safe (and because he enjoys your company, of course), him bringing your hand up to his lips to chastely kiss your knuckles or the back of your hand in greeting, him memorising how you enjoy your drinks and either making them for you himself when you visit his home or sending for his servants to do so on his behalf, him walking with you whilst either placing a guiding hand on the small of your back or interlocking your arms just to make sure that all of hell knows that you’re taken, and so on…

he tends to lean towards more traditional pet names and would prefer if you did the same when addressing him — think along the lines of ‘my dear’, ‘my darling’, ‘my heart’, or ‘my love’ (emphasis on ‘my’ as that’s one of the many casual ways that he proclaims his ownership over your heart and being through your partnership)

his dating style is, again, very traditional and gentlemanly with him preferring to take things slow to enjoy the process of courting and wooing you in its entirety — so expect things like: lots of chaste shows of affection leading up to that eventual kiss that happens after a long time of anticipating it, semi frequent dates that involve more walking and pleasant conversation than anything else, the frequent exchanging of letters and gifts that would feel incredibly out of place for anyone but him, and compliments given in earnest that are very sparsely heard from such an intimidating overlord

carmilla is the first person to find out about your relationship and deals with the brunt of zestial’s pining for you whilst also being the only person he goes to for advice on the rare occasion where he feels like he needs it — of course he’s plenty confident in himself but if you happen to be from a more modern time period there are times where he’ll turn to carmilla’s expertise and experience in order to properly meet your needs and expectations for your relationship

usually this means an afternoon spent in her office discussing gift ideas (between his own thoughts, carmilla’s suggestions, and your personal tastes it’s safe to say that you’re never left wanting for anything so long as you’re together) or with her briefing him on modern day dating etiquette, which he rarely ever makes use of unless it’s to make you laugh (truly he believes that his technique and approach is much more romantic but he can see the humour in the attempts at courtship made by younger generations… sometimes, anyway)

whenever there’s an extermination due, he insists on you staying at his home with him so you can ride out the slaughter together — the mood is always surprisingly light and almost tender as you take the time to enjoy each others company, eat good food, and try to forget about what’s going on just outside of your field of view

despite how much of an effort he makes to keep you and your relationship separate to his work as an overlord, it’s only a matter of time before you get to see firsthand exactly why the denizens of hell would sooner set themselves ablaze or take their own lives before risking drawing his attention to them for even a second — and even though his anger and violence is never directed at you (he wouldn’t dream of raising a hand to his partner) it’s still incredibly frightening to witness and it would take some time to reconcile those two versions of him in your mind

but once you know how ruthless he can be, he becomes much more willing to wield that reputation in order to protect you and your relationship — of course he’s already publicly claimed you in every way he could think of, but it doesn’t hurt to drive the message home by making some examples out of a few unfortunate sinners or hellborns that dared to flirt with or threaten you (or even that just happened to look at you for too long or at the wrong time; he’s not that picky about his victims)

it’s his duty as your lover to protect your honour and well-being after all… and it never hurts to drive home how far he’s willing to go to maintain his status and relationship just in case anyone gets any ideas about using you against him

now despite his public claiming of you as his significant other, zestial is still a pretty private person and doesn’t advertise much of your personal life to the world beyond the fact that you belong to each other and you’re content in that fact — he’ll answer questions from old friends and acquaintances (like carmilla or alastor) when asked but he enjoys keeping you to yourself and being able to have a part of his life that is mostly separate to his role as an overlord

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Go Go Southern Lesser Galago!

Also known as the South African galago or the mohol bushbaby, the southern lesser galago (Galago moholi) is a small primate from the Galagidae, or bushbaby family. As the name implies, they are located only in southern Africa, from northern South Africa up to Rwanda. Their preferred habitats are savannahs and semi-arid woodlands, where they can often be found high in the canopy, and they are particularly associated with Acacia trees.

The mohol bushbaby is one of the smaller members of its group; at full height they stand no taller than 15 cm (6 in) and weigh only 225 g (7.9 oz). In fact, their tail is longer than their body, easily reaching 23 cm (9 in) in length. While it isn't prehensile, the tail is still an important tool for climbing as it gives G. moholi an excellent sense of balance. Along with their incredible tails, the South African galago also has one of the largest sets of ears of any primate, proportional to its size; these ears can move independently to help the southen lesser bushbaby avoid predators. G. moholi's final distinguishing feature are their eyes, which are incredibly large and a distinctive orange color. Individuals themselves tend to be gray or light brown, which helps them blend in with their surroundings.

South African galagos are almost strictly nocturnal. At night, they forage through the canopy for moths and beetles. These bits of protein, however, are supplemental; the mohol bushbaby's primary source of food is gum, or hardened sap from the Acacia plant. G. moholi has several adaptations allowing it to specialize in gum extraction, including scraping teeth on the lower mandible; long, rough tongues; and digestive systems that have evolved to break down and ferment the tough substance. Because they have very few defense mechanisms, southern lesser galagos are a common prey for many nocturnal species like eagles, owls, snakes, mongooses, civets, and gennets.

One of the few ways the South African bushbaby avoids predation is through its social units. Groups of 2-7-- typically composed of a female, her young, and a few non-reproductive relatives-- forage together. In these groups, their collective night vision and highly-developed hearing allow them to detect and alert each other to predators long before the threat is immanent. While individuals forage seperately, they keep in contact via loud, high pitched calls that can serve as a warning for predators, a point of contact between mother and offspring, or a territorial warning between males.

Male G. moholi live seperately from social groups, and are highly aggressive against other males invading their territory. This area often overlaps that of several female-led groups, but they only come in contact with each other during the mating season. Unusually, the species has two mating seasons through the year; from January to Februrary (late summer) and from October to November (early spring). Following a gestation period of 120 days, females produce a single set of twins each mating season. Each set is weaned after approximately 3 months, and young become fully mature at 300 days. Female offspring may join the mother's group, while males leave to establish their own territory. In the wild, an individual may live up to 16 years.

Conservation status: The IUCN has classified the South African bushbaby as Least Concern. Studies have indicated that the population is stable and, in some areas, increasing. However, in other areas the species is threatened by habitat loss and possibly capture for the pet and bushmeat trade.

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Photos

Gerald Doyle

Peter Webb via iNaturalist

[princelylove]

Risotto’s physique isn’t meant for running. He's too heavy, and big, it makes him slow- but he can work for extended periods of time without any fatigue.

He hates the idea of playing chase with you. Risotto understands that you have a lot of energy and need to get it out, but he'd rather not spend an entire morning trying to wrangle you. You can probably wiggle your way around him for a while, especially if you have any sort of prior training, but once Risotto has a proper hold on you, it's over.

Risotto's grip is firm, although loving. He doesn't intend to hurt his darling. Think of it like restraining a cat that needs their nails trimmed. You're not getting away, this is for your own good, but the intention isn't to hold so tightly that it hurts.

If Risotto is slow, how can he catch his darling if he finds himself interested in someone that does some kind of running sport or agility training? There's advantages and disadvantages depending on the type of running his darling is used to- he can tucker out a short distance runner, but can he close the gap between himself and a long distance runner?

Risotto may be slow, but he's steady; Risotto thrives in endurance and stamina. You can run, sure, but can you last? Long distance runners typically don't sprint for an entire marathon- it's about pacing yourself. Sure, you can sprint for some portions, but eventually your body is going to demand a break. Long distance running is quite literally all about stamina, but running (a minimum of) 3 km / 1.9 mi is different from being chased by a 203 cm / 6'8" man for however long it takes.

There's an easy way out of this, but he doesn't want to use his stand to catch you. Metallica is painful- why would you use a trap to catch a rabbit when you want it as a pet, not food? Risotto's gentle nature forbids him from directly harming his darling, but he has no issue with restraining them. Some animals instinctively submit when you touch them a certain way- will you calm down if his hand is on your throat? Around your wrists? No, no, he shouldn't, he doesn't want to frighten you off, the second you view him as a predator, he's done for. You'll never trust him.

So this game you keep playing- chase, he calls it- is majorly stressing him out. He doesn't want to follow behind you like a wolf would, but if his sweet, little doe insists on playing this game, he has no choice but to play along.

He won't discipline you. He spoils you in that sense- you get away with bad behavior because he can't bring himself to raise a hand against you, or really scold you, or even lightly tap your wrist. He gave Prosciutto the responsibility of disciplining the rest of the team because he wants nothing to do with that- but his darling isn't a team member, and he refuses to give your care to someone else, so it puts him in a difficult situation. How can he punish you when he understands that you're only behaving this way out of fear?

He guesses there's nothing he can do but humor you. He always catches you, and he'd find you if you were to slip away, so it's fine. That doesn't mean it's any less stressful for him, but he'll keep doing it and will take more precautions when he brings you back home.

Risotto's physique is good for a lot of things (namely the ability to haul heavy objects for long periods of time), but it isn't perfectly well-rounded. He has good mobility, endurance, strength, and coordination- but isn't very flexible. Perhaps it's a personal bias of mine, but when I imagine men with Risotto's physique, I typically don't think of flexibility as being their strongest point.

Flexibility isn't something Risotto thinks about often- he doesn't need to be flexible to protect you. You cannot push his legs back without him making that needy, initially uncomfortable expression- but he lets you anyway, as long as you’re happy. Truthfully, Risotto would prefer to service you, but he gets off on you using him freely. It makes him feel wanted. Not that he’d ever say that- he’s terribly shy.

After all, it’s a bit hard to tell someone “I want you to think of me as your sex toy sometimes.” It certainly isn’t romantic- and Risotto would prefer to keep things romantic. He’ll keep it to himself, for now.

[xxsycamore]

𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙨 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙣 (ARTHUR X READER)

↬ 🩸 ❝ Now, now…❞ Arthur unfolds yet another towel, laying it on the bed. ❝ You've surely heard that this is one way to treat period cramps.❞ ❝ What is?❞ ❝ Orgasms.❞

Arthur Conan Doyle x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Menstruation; Menstrual Sex; Period Cramps; Embarrassment; Kink Negotiation; Vanilla; Arthur is gentle; Pet Names; Gentle Sex; that gets a little not so gentle; Vaginal Fingering; Vaginal Sex; Kissing; Lots of it; mentions of blood drinking; Creampie; Aftercare; Post-Coital Cuddling; Crying; Dacryphilia • wordcount:  3,177 • masterlist

a/n: I've been trying to finish this fic for months 😭 My first period sex fic! Hope you enjoy!! If you happen to suffer from cramps and you want your favorite ikevamp suitor comforting you in their own unique way, may I also offer: Napoleon, Comte, Mozart, Theo, Leonardo, Sebastian 💕(All fics in this series share the same opening scene!)

It’s another beautiful day at the mansion, and the sun is continuing to shine brightly outside as afternoon settles in. Your list of chores is more than half-way done now, the morning was a productive one and you pat yourself on the back for pushing through at your usual pace, even if your period surprised you early this morning. Sleeves rolled up and armed with a feather duster, you march towards the lounge room to take care of another chore.

Specks of dust dance in the afternoon sun, windows wide open, as you complete your task little by little. Soon the sections left to dust decrease and you start to tire - a minor pain in your tummy appearing as well, as if to persuade you into taking a short break. You throw a look at the grandfather clock. You’ve been a busy bee; not even the distraction of dusting off some of Comte’s highly intriguing antiques couldn’t get you late on your own schedule.

You sit down at the spacious couch area, grab a throw pillow to hug, and fall on your side - shoe-covered feet juust hanging off the couch because it won’t be worth the effort of taking them off for just a minute or two of rest.

Uh-oh! The pain doesn’t go away and only gets worse instead. Suddenly moving as much as a millimeter equals signing a death warrant.

“Help” You whisper to yourself, clutching onto the throw pillow.

Trying to escape from the pain in the realm of your imagination, you fantasize about nicer things…and that means fantasizing about your boyfriend, Arthur. If only he was here right now, you're sure the pain would be way more bearable. Maybe he would sit in the armchair next to you and take out the small journal he keeps on his person to work on his current draft. You love relaxing in the ambient sound of his pen scribbling across the paper, it has helped you fall asleep many nights. On those, he'd normally write on his desk, but seeing you snuggled onto yourself alone on the bed never sits right with him. It typically doesn't take him too long to come join you under the warmed-up covers. You think about how he props the book against his knee, how he plays with the ends of your hair spilled across the pillow when he gets deep in thought…

You also think about how on some nights, you just can't sleep, and he just can't write - when those innocent idle caresses start growing into more, and your gazes meet for a second too long. Arthur would slowly remove his glasses and turn off the night lamp; then in a flash, his lips are attacking your neck with passionate kisses before your eyes can get used to the darkness.

How did your mind trail off to this, again?

"Arthuuuurr…" You groan as the loneliness begins growing stronger with your daydreams, and the cramps chime in as well.

You hear the floorboards creak outside the door and you raise yourself to a sitting position, calling an abrupt end to your short break. Maybe you'll go take some medicine, after all…

"Calling for me, luv?"

You stand awkwardly in front of the couch for a second, staring at Arthur as if he is a fraction of your imagination still. He's not, and if it wasn't for the godawful cramps you'd be throwing yourself on his neck right this instant.

"D-Did you really hear me? It can't be possible!"

Thankfully, he's the one shortening the distance so you don't have to, planting a greeting kiss on your cheek.

"Oh? So you did call my name?" A wide grin occupies his lips now, satisfied with himself and his little accidental guess that wins him the sight of your blushing face.

Realizing his bluff, you purse your lips, removing yourself from his smooching range.

One look at you and Arthur is nodding as if all the checkboxes in his head are now marked. However, he's not celebrating the brilliancy of his deductive mind with a smirk this time; he looks remarkably concerned.

"You were lying down just now, luv, didn't you? Are you in pain? Your period came?"

Despite the best efforts of this persisting pain, expressions other than a bitter frown are still able to play on your features, and you're honestly impressed. "Yes, yes, and yes, but…how did you know?"

Arthur steals himself another kiss, on the corner of your lip this time. "How did I know? Is it so strange for me to know my lover inside out?"

Whispering his reply is all a part of the flirty little trick to win you over, and you wish he didn't - because it works a little too well with the whirlwind of emotions and hormones inside you. You shiver whole, barely able to spare a thought or two about the actual reason. Didn't you catch him taking a bath today? Did he take a peek in your underwear drawer, armed with the knowledge about which panties are the "period panties" (which surprisingly IS a thing even with the circumstances of this time and age!), and notice their absence? Some pervert he is. It wouldn't even be his first time doing this, but still, you're not mad. Not when he's palming and caressing your shoulders while sneaking in another kiss on your pouting lips. You love his attention, especially now that you missed it so much.

"Now luv, what are we going to do with you, hmm?"

You shiver as his hands wander all the way down to your hips and linger there.

"Should we get you something warm to press to your belly? Or maybe take you on a light walk once you're done resting? One word and I'll do everything for you, my dear."

"Arthur, you're spoiling me…"

"Think about it, I'll wait."

Oh, thinking is not good. Not when he's so close with little to no room left to be closer than that, save for the one thing you absolutely cannot ask of him. Your thoughts start getting shameless; cursed be the conditions that are not letting you pounce on him. Even if you're never going to live down the shame of it, you wish you could just hump his leg to a sweet, sweet release and be over with it. It would end quickly and without mess.

Arthur looks at you differently now, and you can feel his gaze examining you. You try to control your breathing which might have quickened in the last couple of seconds. But he's too good at this.

"Something the matter, luv? You seem hot."

His cool hand on your cheek feels too good, as if asking you to nuzzle into it, slip the thumb in your mouth and suck. You summon some much-needed self-control at the price of a sharp breath that puts the attempts at steady breathing to waste. You decide to spill the beans, groaning as another cramp creeps its way onto your nerves, both metaphorically and literally.

"I'm horny."

You expect pity at most. This sort of blurted-out-of-nowhere confession is more typical of the man in front of you, so even with this, you're not doomed to become the bigger pervert between the two of you; it's relieving somehow. You hope that Arthur understands.

"Ah."

It's a small exclamation, and it could mean many things coming from his mouth of all people. While leaving yourself wholly in his hands and their gentle messaging motions, you should've considered that he is ready to sweep you off your feet any second. Like he does right now.

The sudden loss of balance surprises you, and you find yourself carried bridal style. Arthur turns with you in the direction of the door, but before taking a single step, he leans in to whisper to you. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you have no chances of escape as his warm breath hits your lips.

"I think I just thought of a way to relieve you from your pains, darling."

***

To your surprise, you're dropped off at the chaise longue once in your shared bedroom. You watch in near horror as Arthur brings out towels and lays them on the bed. It's not long before you connect two and two, and you have to protest.

"Arthur, you're surely not thinking about-"

"Now, now…" Arthur unfolds yet another towel, giving it a small shake. "You've surely heard that this is one way to treat period cramps."

"What is?"

"Orgasms." Arthur catches your gaze, having finished preparing the bed. You watch him approach and you change the position of your legs on the chaise longue, pressing your thighs together.

Sometimes you hate how awfully familiar Arthur is with the human body given the fact that he used to be a doctor - a field doctor, but a doctor nonetheless - everything from your anatomy to your bodily reactions being a mere tool in his hands to love you and to take care of you, should the need arise. You should be glad to have such a knowledgeable boyfriend by your side, even if it embarrasses you to no end when he puts his skills into action.

"But, it's gross!" You insist in a near-shout, realizing that he's now close enough to hear you even in a meek whisper. "Just think of all the mess… I don't want you to be grossed out with me."

"My dove."

Arthur caresses your neck, pressing his thumb into the underside of the top button of your shirt and easily undoing it, then moving to the next. He pretends he doesn't possess the skill of getting it all done with in seconds, and you're not a fan, even if it gives you time to arrange your thoughts. He wets his lips and continues.

"Nothing about you could ever gross me out. I think this exercise would help me prove that to you, even… and maybe by the end of it, you'll truly believe me."

Soon there are no more buttons left for him to undo.

"I happen to know how to wash blood from bedsheets."

Shivers go straight to your nethers, images of sleepless nights flash in your mind with the reminder of the sharp tips of his fangs perforating the skin of your neck.

"I'm a blood-drinking bastard, remember?…" He latches his mouth into your neck, but keeps his fangs to himself. Despite doing nothing to stop him, you know that losing more blood is not the wisest thing to do right now, and you're already sure Arthur keeps that in mind. You still enjoy his teeth on you, even the ones that don’t aim to break the skin. Before he can suck long enough to leave a mark, he breaks the contact, needing you to be good and listen for a little longer.

"Some blood cannot get in my way of giving you pleasure. Quite the contrary."

You whine at his comment alone, as embarrassing as it is, and you realize that you've been rubbing your thighs together a little too hard. It doesn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend, as he places his warm hand on your knee, smirking at the way you shiver and release the tense muscles of your thighs. He pats you in encouragement. "Will you stand up for me, my princess?"

Complying quietly, you stand up on shaky legs. Arthur hugs you from behind, distracting you with kisses as he untucks your open shirt from your skirt, moving to his next target. Soon the two pieces of clothing pool at your feet, leaving you only in your underwear. His hand is gentle as it guides you to bed like many times before.

You lie down with the soft towels underneath caressing your lower body, and it's not as awkward as you thought it would be. Arthur doesn't give you much time to dwell on it as he climbs ontop of you, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

Burning hot need pools in your belly, a tang of pain mixing with it, and you realize you've almost all forgotten about your cramps. Instead of being wary of upcoming sensations flaring them up, you feel like chasing the prevailing lust that now resides in your loins. Arthur's got you. You want to experience this together with him.

Eager to show him your progress, you guide his right hand between your open legs. To your surprise, he lets out a groan, breaking the kiss to look down and rub the place at the apex of your thighs.

You didn't expect to feel him through the obstacles in the way, and your own sensitivity catches you unprepared. The noise you make is familiar to Arthur, it's hardly the first time he's got you helpless and dying for him to touch you like that. Though it usually takes a bit more toying with you. He keeps rubbing down on it until your body is certain this is nowhere near enough for what it needs.

"Arthurrr… Please…"

"Begging already? My, aren't you cute?"

You pout at his teasing, taking matters into your own hands as you try to shimmy out of your panties. He's there to help, hands meeting yours as he pulls them down and out of the way.

You shut your legs together out of embracement, and Arthur is prepared for this reaction as he quietly tuts you, resuming his ambush on your lips, and you give into his ways of convincing you.

Feeling the tips of his fingers on your clit, electricity runs through you and you thrust your pelvis up involuntarily. Arthur remains collected as his fingers dance around your bundle of nerves, but no matter how gentle he is, his touch feels too good for some reason. You can feel how slippery it is, but the feeling is not too alien to you, and that's a relief. While drowning in the sweetness of Arthur's kisses, it all feels like a regular night with him, you're just extra wet and sensitive.

"Arthur- Are you gonna…" You don't finish, instead running your hand down his toned body and to the front of his pants.

He chuckles. "Only if you can handle it, luv. Say the word and I'll give you what you need. But if you think that would be too much, I can make you cum on my hand now and here."

It all sounds lovely to you, but the hormones playing with your head are demanding all you can take and more. You want to explore this sensation all the way, despite the tad of embarrassment still threateningly lingering in the back of your head.

"I want you inside…" You blurt out, raising your legs in an attempt to make Arthur hurry up and slip inside you already. You obviously don't need more preparation, as you're sure it's not only the blood lubricating your hole anymore.

The shadow of lust darkening Arthur's blue eyes is alone at fault for your walls clamping down around nothing. The rustling of a belt coming undone is music to your ears as you count the seconds before Arthur claims the place between your legs once again.

Same as when you felt his fingers, the tip of his very hard cock makes you jump, but now Arthur chooses to simply observe from above as you forms writhe. You feel him coating himself in your juices and the filthiness of the act makes you moan on the spot. The repeating tease of him threatening to breach your entrance only to withdraw is making you crawl out of your skin.

"Are those tears in your eyes, Luv? Oh, you poor thing, we teased you too much now…"

You're shocked to discover that your vision is indeed blurry. Hormones at fault, you mutter a sound of surprise that turns into a moan as Arthur finally enters you.

"Oh— My god, so— big-"

Arthur groans like you rarely hear him do. He must have felt that too. You're really tight around him.

It's good he slips his tongue between your lips again because the smallest thrust would make you explode. You're getting drunk on this sensation, feeling him so intensely. Just as you begin to relax, he starts grinding inside you.

"Ahhhh- More, more!"

Eager to give you all you want, Arthur complies until you start hearing the wet noises of him thrusting inside you. It's making your face red, but you can't help moaning at every thrust, adding to the sultry sounds.

Arthur is as lost in it as you are, and your heart sings at being the source of his maddening need. Hearing his low noises of pleasure drives you closer and closer to the edge, as all you can think about is cumming together with him.

Locking your legs around his torso, you egg him on to tip over the edge now and here. The unmistakable noise of him cursing under his breath floods you with desire just as you thought you couldn't feel needier, but then something happens that catches you off guard. Arthur moves his head away from where it was nestled against your neck and at first, you aren't sure about the reason before you hear his muffled groans. He fills you with his hot cum just a second after.

You realize that just now, he was biting the pillow. The bloodthirst must have gotten to his head, and he… did everything in his power not to drain you of more blood.

Seeing him so out of control makes you scream as a violent, powerful orgasm is ripped out of you, your body seemingly having a mind of its own as it humps against Arthur through it, and he holds you down by the folds of your knees to ride the pleasure off for you. It's one of the best orgasms you've ever had.

Hormones shifting once again in the chemistry of your brain, you glow with the aftermath of pleasure running through your body, head to toe, and suddenly the need to hold Arthur close grows tenfold. His hands move to cushion the back of your neck as he kisses you softly, spent and content as you are, chuckling against your lips.

"Aren't you going to ask why we haven't done this sooner?"

Still catching your breath, you want to groan at how quickly he regained his cockiness, being a textbook gentleman just a second ago. Though, you can totally see his point now.

"I just…really don't want to look down right now."

"You don't have to. Leave the cleanup to me. I'll take good care of you."

The whispered promise is already lulling you into a deeper relaxation, as you rest your limbs with no intention to get up anytime soon. Arthur is… absolutely, shamelessly spoiling you rotten. Both with his gentle care and with his ways of casually giving you one of the best orgasms of your life, making you discover a new kink.

Oh, and your pain is completely gone, by the way.

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[charmedreincarnation]

My shift to Bnha

I’ll start with the basics. For starters my reality is a bit different. The legal age is 25, so therefore school duration is longer, and our ages are different. I start UA when I was 19 years old, which made me a year 1 student. my parents are both prominent figures in hero society, and I was an only child to them. I only add this because I think it’s important to acknowledge background information because it shapes your experience and your placement in society, especially in a world filled with heroes everything is ranked and merit based.

UA .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

Contrary to popular belief, at least in my reality school is very much emphasized and just as important as hero work. For me a typical day looked like, getting up at 7:45 to prepare for classes that started at 8:30 and ending at 5. We do have a one hour lunch break, and a specific period to work on our specific quirks alone any way we see fit. A lot of people do use that time to slack off and hang out with friends, but they’ve recently become very strict about it. Credits to to Tenya Ida for informing the board of what people were really doing ! A lot of people were mad but honestly I am a teachers pet in this reality so I kind of appreciated it.

I can’t speak for the other classes, maybe it’s because of everything we went to, but we are not a class we are genuinely family. I am closest to Izuku, Sui, Ochacho, Mina, Todoroki and MoMo! Not in any particular order. I’m not going to talk about everyone but here are some of the reasons I love them <3

•Mina is just as extroverted quirky and bubbly as you would expect. Shes one of those people you meet and you can’t help but adore because they energy is so welcoming and they’re so loving. She’s kind of a prankster and a rumor starter and I find it hilarious. You can’t keep anything from her, though but once she has a narrative she has narrowed upon, you have a better chance of changing the devils mind.

For example i talked about this in a different post, but she started a rumour that bakugo is in love with izuku and that’s why he’s mad all the time. It got back to bakugo and he threatened to turn the cafeteria into a live bake oven. It’s honestly hilarious how she can make a whole room laugh. Or make anyone mad.. I guess it’s a talent regardless.

•Sui is the sweetest girl ever. She kind of keeps to herself but she’s honest and what you see is what you get. She’s also kind of emotional and I am kind of a cry baby too there so we get each other. We really just want to do our best and see everyone succeed. I would say both of us made friendships are bigger priority than hero training and we have both been called out for it too.

•Ochacho is very similar to Mina but she can also get down to business when she needs to. Everyone loves her, and her powers are super helpful in any situation, like for sneaking out quietly… but I wouldn’t know anything about that. I vividly remember having a conversation about our hero progress and she’s deeply insecure. She grew up impoverished and Monterey compensation is one of the reasons that really encouraged her to be a hero. I remember one time she was telling me how impressive I was during the first few weeks of school because I had a better handle on my quirk than her. She said something of how I was meant to be a hero. It made me sad because I admired her will and determination more than anyone. I had so many factors that put me ahead in some of my peers. My mother is a pro hero and I went to a profound middle school that molded me to be ready. I told her she was born to be a hero and I was made to be a hero. I was being honest and I didn’t think it meant anything but she always reminds me of how she thinks about that anytime she’s in a situation where she needs help. Nothing made me happier

•Momo and my quirks are very similar. My quirk is called clairvoyance somnium, and my hero name is dreamer. Kind of what she can do but I visualize whatever I need. I can also do more things that I won’t get into but a lot of it, I was inspired by my shifting methods ! Anyways she’s the sweetest and we live pretty close to each other so I’ve seen her around for a while. She’s honestly very gorgeous and we both struggle with insecurities and anxiety, so she really is someone I relate and rely on. Maybe it’s because our quirks or so similar or we have similar backgrounds and personalities but… she’s probably the person I am closest with! But I really do love everyone equally

Bakugo .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

Ok lots of people ask about him so let’s go.

Yes he’s so loud and always angry. You know I thought i would be scared of him but I honestly even I even give him snarky remarks sometimes (in a nice way because I am so nice in this dr) but wow he is the loudest person I’ve ever met in any dr but his powers are amazing we all respect it

Contrary to popular belief..no one is scared of him. As angry, loud and aggressive as he is he has proven time and time again all he wants to do is be a hero. Honestly it surprised some of us but everyone knows he has kind of good intentions under his wrath ??

He also makes everything a competition and he’s actually good at eveything. He’s good at school I’m pretty sure he placed after me in mid terms ! I got third and he got fourth. He’s a great cook and baker. We had a baking competition and he placed after sato. We made ramen and he made the best ramen ! Like he’s not as dumb as he looks. He’s also in a one sided competition with Todoroki but as we have all noticed he doesn’t give a fuck.

Powers .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

This may be egotistical but I could not imagine not being a hero in a world with 80% hero. Don’t let the league of villains hear this it will fuel their fire. 🥲 in all seriousness we are lectured that we are not better than anyone, and we are simply stronger than other people and that is it so we shouldn’t let it conflate our egos. The only way we would be given the green flag to pat our own backs is when are abilities begin to save millions of lives. But then I guess if we’re only being heroes to look good then would that really make us heroes. At least that’s what I wrote about in my English essay. Present mic did in fact eat it up, I got an amazing grade on it. But that’s not the point. The point is it’s easy to get a big head but we were simply genetically lucky, not better, smarter, etc.

Now that philosophy is behind us, having powers is so cool and coming back here the limits of other realities having no bounds never fails to amaze me. Our quirks are an extension of ourselves and literally are us. It’s not second nature, it’s first nature after having these abilities for so long. Especially my quirk, if I wanted I could “dream” 500 million yen, and well I wouldn’t be able to put it in the bank but I digress. Finding out what your quirk can do and how far your cbs push your limits always allows us to be going through moments of self discovery. Having a quirk is honestly it’s own life alone, and I genuinely could not be happier.

My favorite classes .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

As a student in this incredible universe, I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to pursue many amazing topics of study.

One class I took was Hero Studies, where we learned about the many different hero theories and methods of justice, as well as what it takes to become an effective hero. We also discussed the history of the hero world and its evolution throughout the years. It was a fascinating subject and definitely one of my favorites!

The next class I took was Quirk Studies. Here we learned all about quirks, their effects on people and how they can be used to help protect civilians and stop villains. We even discussed how to best work with a partner with a different quirk, and how to combine two quirks to create a unique and powerful attack.

Finally, I also took a class called Combat Training. This class taught us all about combat techniques and how to use the environment and our natural abilities in order to survive any situation. We learned how to effectively dodge and block attacks, as well as how to use our quirks to create powerful attacks.

We of course also had the general classes of math, English, science, math, and music

The classes at UA High were some of the most interesting classes I have ever taken and I am so grateful for having the opportunity to explore them. Not only did I learn a lot about the world of My Hero Academia, but I also grew as a person and as a hero.

Random funny story .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

I’m going to tell you one of the funniest most embarrassing things that happened during the UA sports festive. This happened during the third event, when we were in teaams.

I was with Izuku, mei, Ochako, and fumikage. Everyone is trying to steal the headband from us because Izuku has all the points ! Everyone was targeting us and it was so unfair. during the last few seconds I started running to dream us a tower so we can hide and to grow into to the skies. Then someone came so they threw me the headband and i I was waiting for them but then they got attacked and they told me just go without them !?? I was literally shaking and my anxiety was at an all time high time so I quirked my tower or whatever and made it grow and then the time ran out! I had the headband and we thought we won and we were cheering but umm no. I was the only winner technically because I wasn’t with my team. BUT because that took away FROM the point of the team work part I was deducted points from my own Individual points because that wasn’t the point of the challenge. Honestly you win some you lose some. It was a fun experience regardless.

Also honestly i shifted here around the time of the World Cup, which I could not care less about, but I get the hype of sports witnessing Izuku’s fight against Shinso (manipulation guy.) it was so awesome !!! I was at the edge of my seat the entire time!!! So I guess Now I understand how some people feel about sports lol. By the end of the festival, I got third place overall and my mom was so proud of me. It was the honestly a great feeling.

Random dump with no correlation

my mother (Uwabami’s) Quirk gives her a trio of live snakes growing from her head. One of the snakes have acute senses, allowing her to locate hidden criminals and disaster victims.one snakes also has a scent that can make her victims mindless slaves, one snake produces poison and attacks her victims.

my father who also attended UA with my mom has Squirmy Fingers (can precisely bend and control his fingers, giving him great dexterity) As well as a High Scientific knowledge Skills IQ in engineering. I found this interesting because usually children are a combination of their parents quirks or either or, and mine has nothing to do with either lol.

Todoroki’s pretty smart though he places after Bakugou in the mid terms. he also loves to read ! He’s also politically educated and actually had profound knowledge on the history of heroes and how and why he believe hero’s and villains came to be so.. surprisingly he is more philosophical than I would think. He doesn’t really talk about it or bring it up because if you have a good conversation with him and get him to open up it is always worth.

Food

Tbh to no surprise the food options were eclectic and varied. There was something for everyone! I had everything from traditional Japanese dishes such as ramen and sushi, to western and American-style dishes like pizza and burgers. I even had access to a variety of international cuisines like Indian, Chinese, and Korean.

One of my favorite places to get a good meal was the school cafeteria. Every day it was full of delicious options, from freshly-cooked dishes to the convenience of pre-packaged items. There were also lots of drinks and snacks available. On certain days, the cafeteria also served special meals such as curry or tonkatsu.

If I was looking for something a bit more fast-paced, there were several food stalls and restaurants around town. I could find an assortment of things like ramen, takoyaki, and okonomiyaki. There were also locations that offered more unique dishes such as Japanese-style hamburgers or omurice (Omelette Rice).

Although I often ate at restaurants, I also cooked meals in my dorm room. I could make simple dishes with ingredients from the local grocery store, like fried rice, or make something more complicated with ingredients from the nearby specialty grocery store. I even tried my hand (well with sato as well) at making dango, the traditional Japanese dessert.

Tbh No matter what type of food I was looking for, UA had it though. With all of the different options available, there was something to satisfy whatever cravings I had.

I also write and speak in English so don’t ask any language questions because I do not know

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Crush Symptoms

idea, but no pressure: Touch-starved analogical? Maybe a bit of hurt/comfort where they both think the other doesn’t like hugs/other touch, but really they just don’t know how to ask? love your work! – amateurmasksmith

I was wondering if you could do a fic with Virgil as the comforter, since he’s rarely in that role. I was thinking Logan starts working more and taking worse care of himself, and instead of processing his stress and feelings he holds the stress in his body, which combined with sitting more and shit is causing him physical pain, and Virgil, being anxiety, helps him relax and relieves the pain. No pressure tho lol I just thought it’d be interesting to see some physical comfort since you write mental comfort so well – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: chronic pain, not-actually unrequited love

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 3306

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' This does not prevent him from developing quite the crush on Virgil. Now, if only he could find a way to talk about it that didn't involve having s mental breakdown...

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' He does not invite the same camaraderie that a few of the other Sides do, nor does he make himself approachable for things such as hugs or other forms of physical affection. By and large, he is content to remain this way, as it allows him to perform his duties and adhere to his schedule without being waylaid by those who will not be named that are quite fond of occupying laps or other physical spaces as would a particularly affectionate pet. That is, offended by any sort of dislodging or movement that impedes their ability to use him as a pillow.

Now, this does not mean that he is averse to offering physical affection, far from it. If Patton is in need of a hug, or if Roman insists on sweeping them all into some form of ballroom dance, he will oblige. Firstly because often it is no hardship, secondly because if it is a hardship, complying usually gets it over with a little quicker. However, there are certain forms that he resists wholeheartedly, namely being tackled onto the nearest surface, soft or otherwise. He has several bruises from the trial and error period of figuring out how best to avoid such circumstances.

While this serves him perfectly well the majority of the time, he would be remiss in his conclusions to say that it works out all the time. He is still human, metaphysical or otherwise, and as such, is subject to the same things that all humans are when it comes to his health. He must still endeavor to eat relatively healthily, he must get an adequate amount of sleep, and yes, he must socialize. This can typically be achieved by attending the 'family dinners,' as Patton is fond of calling them, regularly scheduling movie nights for everyone, and partaking in whatever events the twins conjure in the Imagination for them to enjoy. Recently, however, he's been noticing something amiss.

He's begun to get quite cold. At first, he ascribed it to the changing seasons; despite the fact that Thomas lives in Florida, the coming of the winter months is accompanied by some decrease in average temperature. It made sense, then, that he would be colder if it were colder outside. However, the general feeling of the Mindscape did not alter significantly, nor did adding sweaters or cardigans make any sort of meaningful difference. He tried switching his water intake with hot tea, keeping a blanket on hand to drape over his lap when he worked, even trying to make his room warmer using a few extra heat lamps Janus deemed insufficient. Nothing worked, in fact it made it worse. Now he felt both too warm and too cold at the same time, which was endlessly perplexing. How could he be sweating and still feel cold?

It became clear this was not a typical issue of temperature. There is something else at work here, clearly, that is giving him the sensation of being cold without the physical symptoms present. Perhaps some sort of latent emotional response due to something happening in Thomas's life. But as much as he tries to investigate that avenue, he fails to find anything significant enough to warrant this sudden feeling. None of the others imply that anything's wrong, Thomas isn't undergoing any significant struggle, and even checking in on the status of his own work fails to result in anything useful.

The last option, then, is that the problem is entirely internal.

At first, the conclusion makes Logan scoff. What could he be doing or not doing that would result in him feeling cold? He was maintaining his physical fitness, his general health, even his social requirements. He'd just come from movie night, after all, where all of them ended up on one of the large mattresses the twins could summon, huddled under blankets while some generic action movie played on the TV. He hadn't felt cold during that, had he?

Logan sits down at his desk, fingers steepled in concentration. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how he felt a few minutes ago. He'd been sitting with his back against the couch, yes, with Roman and Remus cuddled up near the edge of the mattress as Janus quietly explained to Patton what was going on. Virgil had been on the other side, twisting his hoodie strings back and forth as he watched. Logan hadn't been cold, how could he have been, what with the twins acting as space heaters under the blankets? The only time that he had even approached getting cold had been when Remus got up to use the bathroom, pushing his way through the pile of them and the blanket had flipped up. Virgil had leaned forward to pull it back down and brushed against Logan's arm.

Logan blinks.

Virgil's arm had been warm. Distressingly so. As though someone had taken a hot water bottle and pressed it against him. It had lasted barely a second, as Virgil had quickly pulled away with a muttered apology. But that is, to date, the only memory Logan has of actually feeling warm instead of cold.

Glancing at the clock, he sighs and opens his laptop, quickly typing something in and adjusting his glasses. The cold feeling reemerges as he reads, one hand unconsciously going to the front of his chest as he takes in the words on the screen. He amends his conclusion about what's going on both too quickly and too slowly.

He's touch starved.

Had someone brought up the possibility even an hour earlier, he would have scoffed. He wasn't the type of person to become touch starved. He had all the options for physical affection he would want, how could he be touch starved? His role didn't give him any sort of predisposition to it either, that was reserved for Patton, Roman, Remus, even Janus. Logic, touch starved? The very notion was preposterous.

And yet, once you have eliminated the impossible…

He closes the laptop again and sits back, the hand still on his chest now feeling woefully inadequate. There are solutions to this problem, obviously, his disbelief at its existence signifies as such. He would be able to receive assistance from at least three Sides if he went to them right this moment and informed them of his predicament.

He sits in the chair, unmoving.

Patton would baby him. Treat him as though he were a child, someone to be smothered and cooed at, perhaps even forbid him from being on his own for a while until it was solved. That in and of itself might have the complete opposite effect and make him resent the idea of touch altogether.

Remus would be more aggressive. He might be wrestled down and held until Remus deemed it alright to let him up, which wouldn't be for a considerable amount of time. Besides, he's seen Remus's choice of affection and he's not sure such treatment would work to resolve the problem.

Janus would tease him. Or at the very least, hold it over his head in some way, no matter how innocent or playful it would be, in exchange for his help. He's embarrassed enough as it is, he can only imagine that having to watch Janus smirk and chuckle at him as he tried—badly, because that is all he can do at the moment—to make himself ask for physical comfort.

Roman…might be alright. Out of all of the Sides, Roman is perhaps the only one who Logan can actually imagine struggling with touch starvation. Roman would understand and probably wouldn't hold it over him in any way, or make him uncomfortable about it. He would understand the severity of the situation and the significance of Logan coming to him for help, but…but…

But if Logan is being very honest with himself in this moment, there is only one Side he truly wants to go to and ask for help, and it isn't Roman.

He gets up then, going to the bathroom to finish his nighttime routine, turning off the light and settling into bed. He sets his glasses on the side table and turns over. After a moment, he takes one of the spare pillows and tucks it against his chest. If he closes his eyes, he can attempt to imagine someone else here.

His crush on Virgil is an open secret between him and Roman at this point. Ironically enough, it was one of the first things that solidified this new friendship between them. Roman wouldn't betray his trust, he knows, nor would he actually bother him about it if he knew it was causing him this much distress. Sure, he'd coaxed Logan into doing one of those horrifically cliched rants about how much he liked Virgil once or twice under the justification that it was better to get it out in some way before it spilled out uncontrollably, but other than that, he left it alone. Which was excellent, because then there's a smaller chance that Virgil will find out, but also, that almost definitely rules out going to Roman for any sort of help.

Because Roman is, contrary to Logan's insistence, quite sensible, and he will no doubt suggest that Logan go and actually talk to Virgil.

Even the thought crossing his mind is enough to make him scoff again, burying his face in the pillow. Virgil is not one for physical affection either, which renders the entire solution pointless. If by some miracle he actually accepted Logan's affections—he does not dare give himself the hope that Virgil would return them—that was no guarantee that anything beneficial would become of it. He would simply have to deal with this on his own, or find some way to achieve a solution that would stem the worst of it until he thought of something better.

The cold feeling in his chest spreads a little bit as he falls asleep.

He does not, in fact, succeed at doing either of these things. Instead, he decides that the best way to avoid dealing with this problem is to devote himself to his projects, reasoning that if he has less brain space to worry about it and dwell on his inability to resolve it, it will become less of a problem. In doing so, he forgets three key things: one, you cannot reason or think your way out of being in pain, two, ignoring a problem does not make it go away, and three, ignoring this particular problem makes it much worse.

Much, much worse.

The first time he tries to get up and has to wince at the pull in his shoulders, he doesn't think anything of it. Perhaps he was sitting for too long. He rolls them a few times to stretch them out and continues about his day as though nothing's gone wrong.

The first time he gets up and has to immediately sit back down, he has the thought of reaching for his water bottle and a snack. He looks at the clock and realizes he's been working far longer than he anticipated. Perhaps that was it, just losing track of time.

The first time he wakes up and every single muscle in his body aches, he knows he's gone too far.

He has half a mind to scold himself the way he does the twins for neglecting his physical health in favor of his work, but just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, another pushes itself to the forefront. The physical manifestation of stress has not only caused him to become virtually immobile, but it has a high likelihood of directly alerting the one person Logan would really rather not know about any of this.

A dread that is instantly realized when he feels something soft and warm brushing his hair back from his face.

"Hey, L? L, can you hear me?"

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, it's me." He must be imagining the relief in Virgil's voice, why else would he sound like that? "Sorry to come in without asking, but it seems like you're really not having a good time right now."

He manages to pry his eyes open and sure enough, there is Virgil, looking down at him with concern written plainly across his face. He swallows and his throat protests. Virgil seems to take that as an answer.

"I think you've overworked yourself a bit," he says in that soft way that isn't teasing, not really, but enough to make Logan flush, "can I help you figure out something else?"

"Like what?"

"You're in pain right now, yeah? Shh, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like a bad thing—I mean, it's a bad thing you're in pain, but I'm here to help you not be in pain, not make fun of you for being in pain."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize for reacting like you're hurt when you are." His hand cards through Logan's hair again and he has to bite his lip at how warm the touch is. "Can I help, though? I know a bit about making this sort of pain go away."

This is a bad idea. This is in fact a terrible idea. This is not something Logan should agree too.

"Okay," Virgil says, when Logan nods because of course he does, why should he stop making bad decisions now, "here's what we're gonna do, okay? I'm guessing there's a lot of pain just sort of in your limbs, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Got it. I'm gonna start stretching them out, okay? You let me know if anything hurts too much and I'll stop right away."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna start with your arm." Virgil's hands are so warm and solid on his arm that he almost bites back a whine. "That okay? Not hurting too much?"

"N-no."

"Okay. Let me know if that changes."

He starts lifting and rotating Logan's arm, bending and straightening it and massaging the tender skin. Some part in the back of Logan's brain recognizes he's trying to restore regular blood flow and a decent range of movement, but the rest of him is currently swallowed in the dry warmth of Virgil's touch. He lays that arm down after a while and moves to the other one. But this has him leaning over Logan with his shadow falling across Logan's face and he can't stop the slight rush of breath that escapes him.

"Hey," comes the gentle voice and that isn't helping matters at all, "hey, what's wrong, bud? You doing okay? Am I being too much?"

"No," he says far too quickly, "no, you're…you're fine."

A bemused smile comes to his face and he nods, continuing to work on the other arm. Logan's torn between letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the sensation of just someone else touching him and keeping them open so as not to miss a second. Virgil seems mostly oblivious to his dilemma, patiently working his way up and down the arm until he lays it flat once more. He sits back on his haunches, a hand resting on Logan's knee. Even through the covers, the touch burns.

"How're your legs doing, bud? They hurt too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm gonna need to take the covers off so I can see 'em, is that okay?" Logan nods, but as soon as the cool air hits him, the swelling sensation in his chest buckles and he's gasping for air in the next second. "Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, shh, shh, L, it's okay, look, there, the blanket's all back, see? Shh, it's okay, you're okay."

"Sorry," Logan gasps out, "sorry, I'm so sorry."

Virgil shuffles closer, a furrow between his eyebrows. "You've got nothing to apologize for, L, I mean it. I'm here to help, okay? If something I'm doing isn't helping, then you tell me and I stop it. That's what you did, you're doing great."

"N-no, I'm sorry you—you have to help me like—help me like this."

"Like what?"

"You have to—to touch me."

Virgil goes quiet. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the telltale noise of sinking out. Instead, he almost loses his entire composure when a hand gently cups his cheek.

"Logan," comes the voice, soft, too soft, too sweet, "open your eyes, look at me, sweetheart."

Oh, no. Not the pet names. Literally anything but that.

But Logan is weak and already doing what Virgil asked. The thumb brushing his cheek does make him want to shut his eyes again, because this cannot be real, but Virgil is smiling at him.

"I don't mind touching you," he murmurs, "that's not a hardship for me. Is it that you don't like being touched? Is that the problem?"

"You…" None of his brain wants to work so long as that hand is on his face. "Can't think."

The hand leaves and the cold makes him whimper. Virgil's hand touches his knee again. He blinks.

"You don't like being touched."

"What makes you think that?" Logan just stares at him. "Just because I don't like being tackled by Remus doesn't mean I don't like being touched."

"O-oh."

"Besides, if it were you, I don't think I'd have any problem with it at all." Virgil chuckles when a flush decides that now is the perfect time to spread all over Logan's face. "Wow, okay, I wasn't expecting that."

"You—you—what?"

He leans forward, both hands reaching this time, and they fit gently around the curve of Logan's neck. The rush of warmth is staggering, not helped at all by Virgil's soft voice still murmuring to him. "I thought you didn't like to be touched, sweetheart, that's it. I'm happy to help you, I promise. And Princey's definitely gonna tease the hell out of me when he hears about this."

"Wait, why?"

"Because he knows about the big fat crush I have on you and if he could see me right now…" Virgil trails off when he notices Logan's eyes brimming with tears. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, don't cry, I'm sorry, that was too much to dump on you right now, here, let me help you with your legs and you can—"

Logan doesn't let him finish, surging forward to clumsily press his mouth to Virgil's. The hands cradling his face stutter and for a moment, he thinks he's made the worst mistake of his life, but then Virgil sighs and kisses him back like it's the only thing he wants to do.

"Well," he says softly when they break apart, "I think Princey's gonna be teasing both of us, then?"

"Probably."

Virgil chuckles and rubs their noses together. "How about this, then: let me help stretch your legs out, get you some painkillers, then we'll cuddle in bed and not worry about how smug Princey's gonna be until later?"

"That sounds perfectly adequate."

"'Perfectly adequate,' alright, I can work with that."

Roman does indeed end up being very smug, but he's quietly smug about it, which Logan will take as a win.

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[austinsmutler]

i think this is the request box??? SORRY UGH))) hi!! first time requesting! Could you do a BDE(or Austin)! Elvis x reader (could use she/her pronouns). Reader is timid and socially awkward. During one of Elvis’ shows, the staff at the venue are being really rude to her while she’s trying to get to his dressing room and saying like “just because you’re sleeping with him doesn’t give you any authority to come back here.” Elvis hears about this and confronts them after the show telling them that if they ever talk to his pretty girl like that again that he would do more than just fire them (FIRST TIME REQUESTING IM SORRY THIS IS A REALLY AWKWARD REQUEST)))

Oooh Anon. You’ve single-handedly pulled me out of my writing block with this request. If I could hug you, I would, but instead enjoy Austin!Elvis wanting to burn the world down to protect reader. I hope it's worth the wait.

Keep sending requests for Austin!Elvis, guys! These are so fun!

It's Only Love - Austin!Elvis x Reader - 2,000 words

What you’ll like: Protective Elvis, BDE Elvis, hurt/comfort, pet names ('baby' and 'pretty girl'), Elvis stands up to Colonel

Warnings: Period-typical misogyny, mild violence (nothing major or graphic but there is some grabbing)

Masterlist | Requests are currently open (Please tell me everything you want!)

“Well I’m leaving town baby, I’m leaving town for sure, then you won’t be bothered with me hanging round your door- but that’s alright…” Your boyfriend drawled into the microphone, leaning in with a sultry sway of his hips that had the crowd sighing. 

Elvis’ eyes found yours as he sang, “But that’s alright, that’s alright now mama, any way you do… Woo-hoo!” He howled as the song, and the show, finished. 

The girls around you went wild, showering the stage in everything from red roses to their bras. It was always a strange sight, especially when one bra fell over Elvis’ head and he turned to throw it at Bill, the bass player, with a laugh.

You’d been there every step of the way on the tour, from Memphis to Lousianna and all the way to North Carolina. No matter where Elvis went, there was a crowd of girls screaming his name and throwing their garments at his feet. 

But you weren’t one of them. Elvis’ eyes always picked you out in the crowd and held you, performing your favorites as a secret serenade in every show.

You’d known Elvis since you were children, growing up together on the outskirts of Tupelo, sneaking into Black Pentecostal churches together, and- slowly as growing up- falling in love. 

Your parents hardly had to be persuaded to let you follow him across the country, because you had practically been married since the first time Elvis had grabbed your hand and led you inside the tent as they sang Up Above My Head. Elvis didn’t just teach you the words, he’d burned them into your soul, never letting go of your hand once as you both sang,

“I wanna soothe my heart, I wanna ease my mind, I wanna move my shoes and see what I can find…”

Elvis had found music, but you’d found him. 

** **

Usually Elvis would sneak out from backstage and meet you after the show, but with bigger crowds and Elvis more recognizable than ever, you’d agreed it was best for you to simply come backstage from now on. Everyone who worked with Elvis knew you- even the band members affectionately called you Mrs Presley. 

Which made it surprising when the bouncers- rare members of the team who weren’t Elvis’ direct friends or family -cut you off. 

“Backstage is for band members only.”

“What? Tommy, come on.” You put your hands on your hips, frowning up at the tall man. “You know me.”

“Sorry ma’am, Colonel’s orders.”

“Excuse me?” You caught eyes with Bill, passing behind Tommy. “Hey, Bill!”

“Hey, that's ol’ Mrs Presley!” Bill greeted you with a smile. “C’mon boys, let her through.”

“Backstage is for band members only.” The other bouncer, Tex, repeated. “Sorry Bill.”

You looked at Bill for help, but he was frowning at the other men. “Well, I’m a band member, and she’s with us. Let her through.” 

“Can’t. Colonel’s say-so.” Tommy said expressionlessly. “Real sorry, Bill.”

“You’re gonna be.” Bill looked at you. “Wait here, it’s gonna be alright.”

The second Bill was out of earshot, the bouncers focused their attention on you. It was the first time all tour you’d felt… afraid. It was a hot July night and you’d left your cardigan at home. Suddenly your shoulders felt too bare as they looked you up and down, disgust slowly filtering onto their faces. 

“Just because you’re fucking the boss doesn’t mean you can come back here.” Tommy growled, while Tex stepped forward to shove you further back. 

“He'll be done with you soon enough. Girls like you get boring after a while.” 

You bit your lip, fighting back tears, but you instinctively pushed back against the larger man. Tex’s face twisted in rage as he grabbed your arms with bruising strength. 

“Don’t think you can get away with that, just because you’re sleeping with Presley.”

He shoved you back so hard you hit the wall. You cried out in shock and pain as your head hit the wall and the world turned blurry.

“What the fuck is going on here?” A low voice growled from behind the bouncers. Elvis, still in his pink and black stage suit.

Bill was with him, but when he saw the scene, he took a step back from the singer as if he’d explode. If it were possible, Elvis would be ticking like a bomb ready to blow. 

“Elvis-” Tommy started, but Elvis silenced him with one hand. His dark blue eyes fixed on Tex, who was still in front of you, so uncomfortably close you could smell the sweat under his suit. It made you nauseous. 

You were still dazed from your head hitting the wall, unable to speak as Elvis stalked forward. For every step forward Elvis took, Tex took a step back. 

“I’m gonna give you one chance to explain what you were doing, touching my girl like that.” Elvis snarled. “And that’s one more chance than you deserve, so be quick.”

“W-well, boss-” Tex suddenly didn’t seem so big, hands at his sides, staring at his shoes. He looked more like a child being scolded. “We didn’t mean to-”

“Then what did you mean to do?” Elvis snapped. He was between you and Tex now, hand grasping yours with a reassuring squeeze. "Cause it looked to me like you were throwing my girl around like a rag doll, which she ain't." 

“Listen, we-” Tommy stepped forward, but Elvis interrupted. 

“No, you both listen. You’re fired. If I see either of you near my show or my pretty girl again, I’ll do more than just fire you. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for their response, wrapping an arm around you and guiding you backstage to his dressing room. The pain didn’t fully set in until he sat you in his chair. You winced.

Elvis felt at the lump on the back of your head. No skin was broken, but it still throbbed. Colorful bruises were already beginning to form on your arms where Tex had all-but thrown you backwards.

“Oh, no. No, no, no." Elvis murmured when he saw the marks. He was on his knees, looking up at you with a pained expression. “I’m so sorry, baby.” 

He kissed every bruise on your skin so softly you barely felt the heat of his lips. All the while he murmured comforting words, 

“I ain’t ever gonna let this happen to you again. Never gonna let anything like this happen again. I promise.”

You were silent, replaying Tommy and Tex's words over in your head. They had no idea what they were talking about, but the words still left you with a lingering nausea, far worse than any of the bruising on your body.

“How’s my girl doing?”

“I’m okay.” Your voice was meek, even to your own ears. 

"Hey, pretty girl," Elvis frowned, cupping your chin, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “You can tell me.”

And you did. As the tears finally spilled over your eyes, you told Elvis the worst of what the bouncers said. Tension flooded into his shoulders as you repeated their words.

Just because you’re fucking the boss doesn’t mean you can come back here.

“Those sons of-” Elvis caught himself, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, baby. They ain’t ever gonna work again, I'll make sure of it.” 

He kissed the back of one hand, then the other. Elvis’ eyeliner was messy after a night of performing, sweat still glazing his skin. He looked… tired. You’d never seen Elvis tired before, and the sight scared you more than anything. For the first time in twenty years of knowing him, he looked less than invincible. 

You wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaning down to kiss him. 

“I’ll be fine, really.” You smiled weakly. “You didn’t have to fire them.”

“If I ever had to see ‘em again I’d do worse than that, baby.” He pulled you in close to kiss your forehead, then your lips. “I’m gonna talk to the Colonel. Make sure he files a police report and hires real security for our next show.” 

You bit your lip, remembering their words. Colonel’s orders. “Elvis…”

Your lip wobbled. Elvis trusted nobody in the world more than the Colonel, aside from his mother. Would he believe you? 

Warm hands rubbed up and down your shoulders. “Hey, I’m right here.”

“The Colonel made them do it, they said he said not to let me through.” You blurted out, clamping a hand over your mouth, tears rising to your eyes again. Elvis’ hands froze on your shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

Elvis stood up. Through your tears, you could see the fire in his eyes. You thought he was angry before? Well, he was furious now. Hands bunched to fists at his sides, he didn't move for a long moment, just stared. Then he left the room without a word. 

It was common knowledge you didn’t get along with the Colonel. Elvis considered him a godsend, the man who launched his entire career. You considered him a toad, especially after one conversation you’d overheard in Graceland:

“If the fans know about her, they won’t follow you.”

Elvis thought you’d gone up to bed, but you had lingered to grab a glass of water… and listen to the men talking business. The thought had never crossed your mind before that you were part of that business. 

“Little girlfriends, they don’t last. But your music? My dear boy, that is immortal- if you play your cards right.”

Elvis laughed, and your blood froze. Then the laughter stopped abruptly. 

“You’re serious? What’re you talking about, Colonel?” Your boyfriend’s voice was light and playful, but there was an edge to it. Something underneath you’d never heard before. “I sing from the heart, and she is my heart. Without her, there’s no music.”

“My boy-”

“Understand me?”

“But-”

“Do you understand me?” The playfulness dropped from his voice. Elvis was easily persuaded to go along with just about anything the Colonel dreamed up (“His plans got us this far, haven’t they?”) but from that night one thing was clear: your relationship was not up for negotiation. 

Until tonight.

You stayed there for a while, emptiness settling in your stomach. Elvis didn’t believe you. Why would he? The Colonel had got him this far. Got him a tour in all fifty states. Made him enough money to buy Graceland and as many Cadillacs as he could imagine. You were just a girl from Tupelo, he could find another.

Still, you waited, hoped he’d come back. You could apologize, say you must’ve misunderstood, say anything to get him back. A difficult life with Elvis and the Colonel was better than an empty life without the man you loved. 

Minutes turned to a full hour, so you left, dragging your feet towards the exit, hoping your motel room would still be available to you. Elvis wouldn’t leave you in the middle of America, miles from home with no way back, would he?

Distant shouting caught your attention. You recognized Elvis’ voice immediately and followed down the corridor to a slightly-open door that simply said ‘Colonel’.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Elvis shouted so loud it made you jump, even as you paused outside the door to listen. “Who’re you gonna ban next, my mama?”

“Your mother is not the problem, my boy-” The Colonel sounded flustered, barely himself.

“And neither is she!” Elvis snarled, slamming something down inside the room. “Goddammit. I’ve told you before, I sing from the heart. You want to stop that?"

Silence. Had the Colonel ever been lost for words before?

Elvis continued, "Fine, we can break all our promises. How about this? I don’t see her backstage before and after every performance, I don’t sing. Or-" Elvis snapped his fingers, "Better idea, we go public. Let's see how many fans actually follow me for my music. I don't care about the rest of it."

“Elvis-”

“Those are your options. I’ll give you one more chance, but that’s it. And if I ever, ever find out you pulled this horseshit again, you're done."

The Colonel was silent for a while, but perhaps he muttered something quietly, or simply nodded, because the next thing you knew, Elvis was coming out of the room, fists still clenched and face flushed with anger. 

All of that melted away when he saw you. 

“Baby,” He murmured, taking your hand in his. “What’re you doing out here?”

"I- I thought-" Your body shook, and Elvis took the black jacket from his shoulders to drape it across yours. He led you away from the Colonel's door, back to the privacy of his dressing room. 

"You don't have to throw your life away because of me." You finally said.

Elvis smiled, wiping the tears from your cheeks with both hands. "Sweet girl." 

Without warning he picked you up and sat back in his chair, holding you on his lap while he peppered your face with kisses.

"A life without you? That's not one I want to be living." He pressed your foreheads together and let out a sigh. "But this right here, you and me? That's what's right. And I will protect that- protect you, Always."

[eyelessjackspuppyshark]

Can we get some HCs about your toby? I really love your writing of him 💖

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Yes!! I love sharing my Toby headcanons! I haven’t used my Toby in so long so they may be a little rusty but I hope you like them!! I project on him a lot. I tried my best to make a pretty decent list!! Also thank you so much for loving my Toby writings!! It means so much too me!! :D

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 As a child Toby never exactly understood why his Father drank and never realized his Fathers sudden mood changed were because of alcohol.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby’s Father was a good Dad when he wasn’t drinking though when he was around the age of five his father started drinking more commonly. There’s still are times where his father doesn’t drink. This caused Toby to have a very love hate relationship with his Father, which during the hate period he feels immense guilt for it.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 The smell of beer causes Toby to slip into a panic attack.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby has an ED due to not wanting to eat when his Father was drunk. He never got help for it so he still struggles to eat properly.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 That being said, Toby does enjoys Waffles but not for the fanon reason. He enjoys them to to his Mother often making them every Sunday morning. Which him and Lyra often helped her.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby enjoyed car rides with his sister before the car crash. Though now he has panic attacks if he tries to go into a vehicle. He’d rather ride a bike or motorcycle.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 When Toby was around the age of nine his Father brought home a small cream coloured Pomeranian which they named Sassy. Toby loved that dog and spent so much time with her. He fed her liquorice and candy(Which ended up in Sassy biting his septum but he didn’t care). Unfortunately the Dog was stolen and about two weeks after they got the dog, the police showed up and took her away.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby has an obsession with Littest pet shops due to that being his and Lyra’s go to toy whenever they played together. He steals all of the kids littlest pet shops and keeps them hidden in his room. Often playing with them when he’s sad or upset. He also enjoys Webkins, and My little Pony.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 He’s a huge fan of Three Days Grace, Hollywood Undead, Linkin Park, and Get Scared. His favourite song is Home by Three Days Grace. Listens to music typically on a CD Walkman with bulky ass headphones. Toby is also a big Vinyl Record and CD collector, his collection is massive. He steals most of his stuff from the malls, and he doesn’t touch small businesses.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby is a cannibal! He will often eat his skin and flesh off his fingers, along with the inside of his cheek and his cheek gash. His cheek gash originally started as a small cut which he started gnawing on after the car crash. He also takes from Jacks stash to cook up and eat human when he’s hungry.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby smokes cigarettes due to having a pretty bad oral fixation, although most of the time he smokes cigarettes he’s stolen from others(Jeff, and Tim mainly). His favourite cigarettes are menthols because they make his throat and nose feel funny. Will not vape because he thinks the sweet flavours are fucking stupid.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Terrified to get into a relationship due to having an intense fear of turning out like his father. Sure he has flings and stuff but had never actually got into a truly romantic relationship with anyone.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby enjoys breaking his bones and is convinced that it only makes him stronger everytime he breaks them. Eyeless Jack is fed up with him.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby grows out his hair but cuts it in a wolf cut himself when it gets to long. He prefers it short but Lyra always loved when he had longer hair so he keeps it long due to that.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby is Autistic.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby was so eager to become a Proxy once he was saved, he burnt a proxy symbol into his neck as an attempt to prove himself worthy.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby often picks on anyone he deems “weaker” than him. Making snarky comments and pushing them around. Due to being bullied he became the bully instead.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby enjoys arguing. Most of the time he’ll argue with Jeff, Nina, or Ben for fun.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 He often smells like fire due to committing arson for fun. He also often smells like nature and fairly musky at times.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 His targets are often people who are genuinely disgusting humans.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby enjoys animals, his favourites are Opossums, Raccoons, and Rats. He owns six Rats.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby has Tourette’s although they’re typically worse when he’s upset or mad. His Tourette’s are mainly Motor, but he still has vocal tics.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby is German!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby is Pansexual! He doesn’t care what the gender of his partner is!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Tobys clothes are often in more natural nature like tones. He mainly wears sweaters due to his arms being extremely scarred up from the car crash.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby unironically plays Fortnite, and COD to yell at others for fun.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby sees Tim and Brian as adoptive parents. Also Cody is his biological brother.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Isn’t the biggest fan of Eyeless Jack, he honestly thinks Jack being so adamant about checking him for wounds when he gets back is excessive and annoying. He calls Eyeless Jack “Mom” in a sarcastic way often.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Tobys best friend is Jeff despite them being complete assholes towards each other.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby is terrified of Nina but at the same time thinks she’s hot because of it.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Toby has a soft spot for children. Often playing with Sally or any other child CRP who wants to play. He doesn’t want them to feel sad or lonely.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Tobys iconic hoodie was made by Lyra who gifted to him for his seventeenth birthday.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Tobys favourite normal food is sausage, pretzels, and Onions. His favourite drink is Grape Soda, or Powerade.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Thats all but you can find my writing info here!

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[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 28

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

9k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, fighting and making up

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This is it, my dudes! The final chapter. No epilogue, because I don't think this story needs it. Thank you for all your comments, likes, and reblogs! Your support has kept me going. I'll post a masterlist directly.

28

Today’s volunteers had been abuzz with the news of Chief Jim Hopper’s miraculous return from the dead. The story was he’d uncovered a terrorist plot and worked with the government to thwart the radicals. Starcourt Mall had been the unfortunate backdrop of the confrontation.

It was also unfortunate a surviving radical had recognized Hopper. Since Hopper had been in danger, he’d been put in a protection program until the threat had been eliminated.

Rumor had it he’d been involved in defeating the rest of these radicals, who had something to do with Hawkins National Laboratory.

You didn’t bother to point out the specific government agency had been conveniently omitted. Same with the terrorist organization. Over sandwiches in the courtyard, Steve said Hawkins Lab had been closed for over a year when Starcourt’s fire occurred.

Nevertheless, while there had been casualties at Starcourt, they’d been few. Everyone considered Hopper a local hero.

A few volunteers discussed Eddie, too. They felt sorry for him and insisted they’d never believed those ugly rumors. Eddie was an orphan who’d been taken in by his uncle Wayne. Wasn’t that sad? Why, they’d known Wayne Munson for years! Wayne was an upright person. A veteran, too. There was no way he would’ve tolerated Devil-worship under his roof.

Those horrible classmates — bullies, really — must’ve targeted Eddie because he was different. Being different wasn’t a crime! Besides, Eddie had never hurt anyone. He performed at The Hideout with his little band all the time. One volunteer knew The Hideout’s owner, Cliff, who said Eddie was a good, if weird, kid.

You’d nodded and hummed in agreement while sorting donated home goods. There was no point in calling them hypocrites. Perhaps some of them weren’t. You wished you’d gone to that town hall meeting with your parents. Then you’d be able to pick out the liars.

On the way home in Steve’s car, Robin turned in the front seat to face you.

“You know, people want to be on the winning side. They like to think of themselves as smart enough to know who’s telling the truth.”

“But they were blinded by fear,” you said in agreement. “And looking for someone to blame.”

Steve said, “Like the pilgrims burning all the witches in Salem.”

You and Robin shared a look. He was close enough.

“Yup,” she said.

He appeared proud to have contributed to the conversation.

Robin rested her chin on her forearm.

“Eddie’s lucky you found him before anyone else.”

“Outside of the military, yeah, I guess.” You offered a bitter grin. “Who knows what they would’ve done to him if he’d survived Vecna.”

Though you don’t think he would have. Most likely, he would’ve dropped dead with the rest of the hivemind. If you hadn’t died from taking part of Vecna’s curse earlier, you might’ve shared that fate.

Steve said, “God, I’m so glad that fuckface’s dead.”

“Me too.”

“Me three,” Robin said with a grin.

Once at Steve’s, you three talked about dinner. Steve had pulled everything this morning to make a pan of baked ziti with roasted broccoli on the side. Robin made a disgusted face at the mention of a vegetable. You laughed at her scrunched nose and tongue poking out. Robin exclaimed eating broccoli was like eating green farts while Steve opened the front door.

Classical music played from the sunroom’s stereo system.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, projecting his voice as he tossed his keys into the bowl on the foyer table.

The music cut off, leaving a silence that felt as if you needed to pop your ears.

Robin kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on an empty hanger in the closet. She reached for yours as Eddie jogged across the living room.

“Hey, good day?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he said to Steve, “I know this is a pain in the ass, but would you take me to my van? I want to do it before it gets dark. It’s on Coal Mill.”

“Dude, I gotta start dinner.”

Robin held up her hands when Eddie looked at her.

“No license. And the last time I tried to cook in that kitchen, I almost set everything on fire.”

Steve smirked.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your smoke detector that wouldn’t shut up for fifteen minutes.”

You snorted to hide the pang at being Eddie’s last choice and shrugged your jacket back onto your shoulders.

“I guess that leaves me.”

With a pat to your pockets, confirming you had your wallet and keys, you left the house. Eddie bumbled out the front door a minute later, swinging on a navy sport coat that was a size too big. It clashed with his green track pants and untied blue sneakers.

You kept your comments to yourself as you unlocked your car and got behind the wheel. Eddie sat in the passenger seat as you started the engine. The stereo came to life. The Sisters of Mercy simmered through the speakers. You hit the power button, cutting them off.

Sounding amused, Eddie said, “I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I was in the mood for them the other day.”

“You can turn it back on, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” You shifted the car into Drive. “How do I get to Coal Mill?”

“Uh, take a left. We’ll go the back way.”

You nodded and pulled onto the street. He tied his sneakers. At the first intersection, he directed you to go left. The evening sun’s golden light flickered between the trees. This far from the nexus, the woods appeared unaffected by the poisonous ash. You mentioned it. Eddie asked how downtown was faring.

You lifted a shoulder.

“It’s like a war zone and a natural disaster had a horrible, mangled baby.”

He laughed. “Vivid.”

“There’re construction crews all over, and the school gets dusty overnight. We have to cover everything with sheets before we leave. People sleep with masks on.”

“What a nightmare.”

You nodded as you passed the turnoff to Sattler’s Quarry.

After that, the road narrowed and twisted. Eddie navigated you through more intersections and over train tracks. You passed farmhouses with fields of growing corn and pastures for cattle. He had you take a road into the woods where squat houses sat close together.

The road dead-ended with Coal Mill Road T-ing into it. Behind the houses, sunlight reflected off rippling water. He advised you to park in the gravel at the side of the road; his van wasn’t far. You found a wide, flat section and stopped the car. The peaceful neighborhood didn’t seem the place to stash a van.

You then recognized the house reflected in the rearview mirror as the one from the broadcast identifying Eddie as a suspect. That had been a shitty day. Even for you.

Eddie opened the passenger door. You blinked out of the memory, unlatched your seatbelt, and got out of the car. He was quiet as you came to his side. His grim face had you reaching for his hand.

He stiffened at the touch.

You recoiled and looked away. Rather than the quiet hurt you expected, though you were hurt, this white-hot feeling spread through you. Your jaw locked and vision narrowed. Each inhale became deliberate. You wanted to claw at his pretty face.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

That pretty face became dismissive, and he stepped onto the road towards the woods.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “What do you mean, what’s my problem?”

“You’re…” You struggled to find a word as you followed, but the only one came. “Skittish. I don’t know.”

“I’m not skittish.”

A few yards down from your car, he separated two shrubs to reveal parallel tire ruts in the grass.

“You are!” You waved a hand at his back. “You are. You won’t sit next to me. You won’t touch me. Not that I expect you to be all over me, but you don’t reach for me.”

He stepped between the shrubs and held one back for you.

“I—”

“I take your hand, you flinch.” You tramped into the underbrush and onto a rut. “I sit next to you, you make sure there’s plenty of space between us. I make a move, and it’s always wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said, letting the shrub go.

“Really?”

He went to the other rut. You stopped to glare at him.

Did he not see the irony of maintaining four feet of distance?

“Really?”

“I…” He frowned, though he continued walking. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

“Eddie, you’ve had your dick in me.” You resumed walking. “And I’ve never pushed you away.”

In fact, you had only pushed him away when he’d been under Vecna’s control. When it was just the two of you, the thought never crossed your mind.

He sighed.

“I’ve needed space.”

“Then tell me that. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” That heat inside you vanished. “You’re not obligated to… to do anything.”

“No, it’s not that.” He stopped and glanced at you. “I haven’t felt like myself since…”

“Yeah.”

“No, not like— It’s like…” He sighed again, his face twisting up. “There’s this emptiness.”

What could you say to that? You wouldn’t diminish his experience by saying plenty of people felt that. His was different. It wasn’t anything one could ignore or fill. You remembered dissolving into silence, and how it had swallowed everything.

You said softly, “Like a hunger.”

He met your gaze. In the sepia light and dusty shade, his brown eyes appeared darker and more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t want it to touch you.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not a stranger.”

He looked away, into the trees, chin quivering. The tip of his nose turned pink. You wanted to kiss it, kiss him, make it better somehow. You took a hesitant half-step to take his hand, at least, but he walked farther into the woods.

With a deep breath, you followed a couple paces behind. The ruts curved around a dead pine and disappeared behind a thicket. Eddie knelt at the far side of the pine to dig into the rust-colored needles. An old camouflage net covered his boxy van from roof to tires.

You pushed up your sleeves while circling the van.

As you came around, he said, “Look, I know you’re too smart to believe the shit Vecna said.” He pulled something from the needles. “But I want… I want you to hear it from me—”

“Eddie.” You shook your head again. “That’s—”

“No, let me get this out. Every shitty thing he said — I said — was a lie.” The metallic jingle of keys punctuated his statement. “I don’t believe any of it. I never thought it.”

While you didn’t doubt Eddie, there was a part of you that wondered if Vecna was right. You were privileged. Your parents could afford to send you to any college. They’d even set up a savings account for you. You didn’t have to worry about a part-time job. You had a car. You’d been protected from the banal cruelty in the world. You’d taken so much for granted over the years. On top of that, you were a witch.

He straightened and looked at you.

“I don’t know how to prove it. All I got is my word.”

“No, no, I believe you,” you said, holding up your hands.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“What?”

“You saved me, sweetheart.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Kinda feels like a blood debt.”

You grinned.

“Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I don’t know, but, Eddie…” You drew closer to him. “You owe me nothing. You’ll never owe me.”

The keys rattled in his hand. His gaze darted away.

You continued, “I know what I did spooked you, but I did it because I love you. And it’s okay if you don’t…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence. It was hard to breathe or think or control the swelling sob in your chest. A tear rolled down your cheek, and you swiped it away.

Eddie’s head tilted in sympathy, lips thinning. He stepped near and offered his empty hand. It was the first time he’d done that in days.

Your vision prismed with fresh tears as you grasped his hand. The callused pads of his fingers scuffed against your skin. Your sob transformed into a long exhale.

“Vecna took you from me,” you said, and sniffed back the wet clog in your nose and wiped at your eyes. “I did it because you’re mine. Because he hurt us — hurt me.” You barked a laugh. “Now that I say it out loud, I hear how fucking selfish I am.”

You met his red-rimmed eyes. He shook his head like he couldn’t accept you were selfish. Regardless of his belief, you were, but you’d try not to be with him.

You whispered, “Even if we don’t stay together, you’ll never owe me. You’ll always be special to me.”

He tugged you near and put your palm on his sternum with his hand covering yours. His chest rose and fell because he’d pushed Vecna out, because you’d brought him back. That was something you’d never regret.

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he said, “I love you too, and you didn’t spook me. Don’t… don’t hide from me.”

As gently as you could, you said, “I’m not the one who’s been hiding.”

He stared at your stacked hands.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve been fucking up so goddamn bad.” He shook his head, his hair obscuring part of his face. “I hadn’t protected you. God, I actually hurt you. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t even fucking graduate.”

If his last statement was an obstacle, you would’ve tripped over it.

He couldn’t graduate? That made no sense. Nothing was official yet, of course, but Dr. Owens hadn’t balked at the party’s insistence of all the seniors graduating. Had no one told him? Hadn’t it been mentioned in conversation?

“Wait,” you said, trying to remember if anyone had brought it up.

He watched you from under his bangs, eyes so fawn-like, a little furrow between his brows.

You said, “I thought Steve told you about the party’s demands.”

He angled his head.

“No…?”

“One was all the seniors graduating, regardless of standing.” You took hold of his coat’s lapel. “What did you have in O’Donnell’s?”

“A low D.”

“D’s passing.” You grinned. “You’re graduating, anyway, but you passed her class. That’s all you needed, right?”

His eyes went wide and lips parted as he nodded. You glanced at his full bottom lip while scraping your own between your teeth. You hadn’t kissed him in ages.

You stepped closer and slid your hand from his lapel.

“Congratulations,” you said before rising and pressing your lips to his.

He gasped. His lips dragged against yours. Then he jolted, pulling away.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why would you hurt me?”

His gaze slithered from your lips to your neck to the neckline of your shirt in an invisible touch.

“What if I lose control?”

You studied his worried face in the dimming light.

“Is it the emptiness?” you asked.

He nodded, casting his gaze to the side.

You remembered how predatory Eddie had looked with the MP’s blood on his chin. That hadn’t been Eddie. Not entirely. That had been the hivemind of bloodthirsty carnivores.

“Is it…” You didn’t know how to be tactful with this. “Do you want my blood?”

His tongue worked in his mouth, licking his canine, before he said, “I don’t know.”

You cradled his jaw over the scar and eased his head forward. His focus remained to the side.

“Please, look at me.”

His irises swung to meet yours. A flicker of sunlight illuminated them cinnamon sweet. His dark lashes fluttered as he blinked.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” you said. “But if you want to try—”

His posture went rigid as he shook his head. His hand pressed yours tighter to his chest.

“No.”

You pressed on.

“If you want to try my blood, I’ll let you.” You grazed the corner of his mouth with your thumb. “I’m not scared.”

He closed his eyes, mouth pinching and brows furrowing.

“Honey, don’t be scared.” You stroked his cheek to his clenched jaw. “It’s just me and you here.”

“Yeah, it’s just me and you.”

You sighed.

“What, you think you can kill me? You think I’d let you? You think I don’t know my limits?”

He opened his eyes, which blazed with anger and frustration and panic.

“What if I don’t know mine anymore, huh?”

Gritting your teeth, you said, “Then we’ll discover them together.”

With your hand on his chest, you pushed him towards the van. He bumbled backwards, dropping the keys. His back collided with a dull clunk. You slid your hand from his chest to the van, boxing him in, and pressed your front along his.

“Fucking trust me.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

He nodded, throat bobbing with a swallow.

“Are you sure?”

Again, he nodded.

You closed the distance with a hand on his nape. He angled his head, lips moving counter to yours. The kiss stole your breath and thought. You ravaged, biting his bottom lip. His hands cupped your ass and drew you against him. He plundered, groaning as your tongues slid over each other.

Teeth scraped your lip, yet it didn’t frighten you. Let them break skin. You didn’t care.

Trembling hands snuck under your shirt. He pulled at your waist, making your back arch. You mewled into the kiss and plunged your fingers into his messy hair. His tentative palms skimmed up your back.

You shivered as your nipples pebbled.

You broke the kiss to whisper, “Touch me. It’s okay. I trust you.”

His eyes gleamed as he drew his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He spread his feet and maneuvered you between his knees. The firm mound of his erection pressed into your belly. He trailed his hands down to your ass. His fingers met at the central seam of your jeans.

“You’re so hot here.”

“Because of you.”

He caught your lips in another kiss. You gripped his hair as the woods went fuzzy. His hands, more confident, skated up your ass, under your shirt, and up your sides. Cool air swept over your skin. You inhaled as he found the band of your unsexy bra. The earlier work at the school hardly warranted anything fancy.

Eddie didn’t seem to mind. A hungry noise came from his chest as he fondled the underside of your breasts through the bra. He sucked on your bottom lip, and the sensation flowed through you like water. Your nipples tightened further. Your cunt clenched.

“God, you’re so soft.”

You caressed the warm skin at his nape, saying, “I’ve missed you.”

Without waiting for a response, you kissed him. His fingers dragged across your breasts until he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and sides of his palms.

You gasped at the wicked frisson, angled your face up to catch your breath, and writhed. You pressed your hips to his, the thick seam of your jeans rasped between your legs. He rocked his erection against you. New heat zinged down to your toes.

Voice husky, he said, “Fuck, I missed you, too.”

He kissed the side of your neck. Each kiss became more open-mouthed. His tongue moved as if he tasted more than your skin. He pulled his sharp teeth across the big tendon in your neck, like he was teasing you both. The threat of a bite had your heart beating double-time and eyes rolling back.

He pinched your nipples harder, making your lower body squirm from the ache. You kept your chest and neck still as you waited to feel what he’d do. He groaned and mouthed his way to the artery under your jaw. He sucked hard at the skin there, mouth scalding. You gasped at the delicious pain.

“Jesus,” he said between pants against the sore spot.

As his saliva cooled on your skin, you swooped down to kiss him once more. His tongue slid over yours as his hands left your breasts. You held his head in place by the hair, losing yourself to the decadent back and forth.

He folded his arms around you when you held his smooth cheek. There was no panic here. There were no monsters. It was only you and him, sharing breath and touch.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Good.”

You stroked his cheekbone.

“That’s all that matters.”

“I didn’t… freak you out there?”

“By giving me a hickey?” You smiled with a chuckle. “No.” You brushed your lips against his. “I like wearing your mark.”

His cheeks pinked further. He made a happy sound and buried his face in your neck once more.

“Gonna give me another one, baby?”

Muffled against your skin, he said, “I might.”

Tightening your hold in his hair, you pulled his head back. He looked at you with hazy eyes. His red lips parted, breaths shallow.

“Gorgeous,” you said.

His gaze drifted to the side. He wanted to shy away, but you wouldn’t have it.

“You act like I haven’t seen you, but I have.” You traced the scar on his jaw. “And nothing’s changed for me.”

He met your eyes, his own bright with conviction.

“Me neither, I swear, milady.”

You smiled at the endearment you hadn’t heard in too long.

“Then no more hot-and-cold, good sir.”

He nodded as much as he could.

“I’m with you.”

“No half-assed crap, either. I mean it, Eddie,” you said, relinquishing your grip on his hair and lacing your fingers behind his neck.

His spine straightened as if coming to attention.

“Whole-ass-ing it from here on out.”

“Good, I like your ass.”

“I like yours, too.”

His eyes lit with mischief, reminding you of the Eddie you’d first met. The one who quoted the Scorpions during roll call, who always answered the phone, who howled during concerts.

A hand gripped the underside of your ass-cheek and gave it a squeeze. It put to mind him holding you against the cold wall behind The Hideout and fucking you with hungry desperation. You wanted that with him.

“Wanna go home and prove it?” you asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

He gave you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely.”

He didn’t release you, nor you him, despite the blue of the sky having faded to ginger and blushing violet. Rose-gold sunlight graced the tree tops. Once gentle shadows were now hard-edged and inky.

You liked the heat radiating from under his thin t-shirt and all the evidence he was alive. He’d survived. You had as well. He must’ve had a similar idea, because he surveyed you with loving eyes.

You swayed.

“Let’s go, Muffin Man.”

He groaned and let his head flop back.

“I swear to God, that’s adorable when we were high, but you cannot say that in front of our friends.”

“Not even—”

His head shot up.

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” you said with an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, well, please continue, sweet lady.”

“I was going to say, not even—” You imitated his dramatics as you said, “The Muffin of Demonic Charm!?”

He laughed. “I only like the ‘muff’ part of that.”

You backed away with a giggle, sticking out your tongue. His hands went to the sides of his head, pointer fingers out, and stuck his tongue out at you.

You said, “You won’t get any part of that out here.”

He fluttered the tip of his tongue.

“Tempting, but no.”

He spread the sport coat and posed like a centerfold to entice, hip canting to the side and his chest arched.

“Oh, if only I had a camera, baby.” You found the forgotten keys amongst the pine needles and dead leaves. “You’d make Goodwill a lot of money in their annual calendar,” you said and tossed the keys at him.

He straightened to catch them, juggling them to his chest.

“I’ll have you know—” He swept his empty hand down his body. “—all of this is House of Harrington.”

“How chic.”

“Very exclusive.” He pointed to the corner of the van for you to help gather the netting. “Not just anyone can say they’ve worn Steve Harrington’s tighty whities.”

You laughed and lifted the corner of the netting.

Together, you uncovered the van. Eddie gathered the netting and kicked it under the thicket before going to the passenger door to open it for you.

“I’ll drop you off at your car.”

You thanked him and climbed into the stuffy van. The scent of old smoke, warmed plastic, and upholstery seasoned with boy invaded your nose. You rolled the window down halfway after he closed the door.

With a glance at the vacant back, you thought of Corroded Coffin’s equipment there. You’d seen little of Jeff, Gareth, or Dougie at school. You hadn’t asked Eddie if they still played at The Hideout. You hadn’t asked him about a lot of things. There was so much you’d missed since New Year’s.

Eddie opened the driver-side door and hopped in. He made a face, then rolled down his window.

He turned all the air-system controls off, saying, “Cross your fingers she’ll cooperate.”

He shoved the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered and whined and chugged until something aligned, and it roared to life. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, throwing you a laugh.

You smiled back and fastened your seatbelt.

He shifted into Reverse and maneuvered away from the thicket. The tires spun in the layer of pine needles and budding grass before finding traction. The van lurched forward. You hung onto the seatbelt and prayed the van wouldn’t get stuck. It was too old for off-roading. He steered onto the ruts, tires kicking up dirt as they bit into the earth.

Your prayers were unnecessary or maybe something out there listened to you, because a minute later the van was on the pavement and next to your car.

“Your noble steed, milady.”

With a smirk, you said, “I thought that was you, stud.”

He leaned in, eyes sparking.

“I’m at your beck and call.”

You bent close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

“Get me home, sir, and I’ll show my appreciation for your fealty.”

His eyes darted to your lips.

“I can do that.”

Tilting your head as if to kiss him, you said, “I know you can,” and moved away to unfasten your seatbelt.

His head drooped.

He looked at you when you opened the door, expression amused.

You said, “Don’t go too fast, honey, wouldn’t want to get pulled over.”

“Depends on who’s doing the pulling over, sweetheart.”

You smiled, shaking your head at the cheesy line, and left the van. His attention stayed on you as you crossed to your car, like fingers trailing down your spine.

Once in the car, you made a U-turn and followed him to Steve’s. Eddie was something of a lead-foot, but you could keep up easily. He parked in front of the garage at Steve’s. You stopped next to him and locked up.

He met you at your trunk and offered his elbow.

“Not too fast for you?”

You snaked your arm around his bicep.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He hummed in agreement as he walked with you to the front door.

“Um, I know this is out of left field,” you said, “but I thought about the rest of the band. I hadn’t seen them at school, except in the hallways sometimes. Like, I don’t share any classes with Jeff or Dougie.”

“Last time I saw them was during the last Hellfire meeting.”

“Maybe you should call them? Now that your name’s cleared, it’s safe for all of you.”

“I don’t know…”

“They’re probably worried about you.” You squeezed his arm. “And unlike me, they can’t use magic to track down your ass.”

He bobbed his head once.

“I’ll call them tomorrow.”

“Good.”

You stopped him before he could make his way to the front door. He turned to you, gaze searching.

The blue hour painted him in shades of purple. Warm light from the porch sconces and nearby kitchen window caught in the waves of his hair. He was a fallen angel, halo stripped yet seraphic nature undeniable.

That felt like a line from someone more imaginative. You were no poet, though you wished you were.

Softly, he asked, “What is it?”

You shook off the thought and grinned.

“Nothing, I just… I just like you like this.”

He glanced at himself before giving you a wry look.

“In borrowed clothes with dirty hands?”

“No, butthead.” You jostled him by the arm. “I like you here — with me.”

That wry look disappeared. His eyes rounded, earnest and affectionate. He drew you in with a gentle hand on your nape and kissed you. His lips were tender on yours in silent relief, as though you’d surprised him. While he’d withdrawn after Vecna’s defeat, and you’d been uncertain about a future with him, you still loved him. That had never changed.

You threw yourself into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Blood rushed through your veins. Your cheeks burned as the kiss deepened. His other hand clutched your hip to guide you against him.

It was easy to lose yourself with him. It was easy to love him, and he made it easy to let yourself be loved.

He cradled the back of your head like you were priceless. He held you like he couldn’t get close enough. The mark on your neck was a brand of sweet possession.

At an inevitable pause, you said, “Let’s go inside.”

“I can’t sit through dinner.” With a small shake of his head, he said, “I can’t wait.”

“Then we won’t. We’ll go straight to your room.”

“What about…?” He gave you a meaningful look. “Condoms?”

“I got it covered.”

“Sounds like I’ll be saying that later.”

You laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder. He looked pleased with himself and trotted to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, he glanced back to make sure you were behind him.

You whispered, “Wait,” and drew energy up your body. It had been so long since you’d obfuscated your presence to sneak around, you’d nearly forgotten it as an option. You laced your fingers with Eddie’s, including him in the silent bubble you created.

“Keep close and avoid making too much noise.”

He nodded before easing the door open.

A top-40s station played on the radio in the sunroom. Robin and Steve’s voices floated from the kitchen. They remained out of sight even after you gently shut the door.

You directed Eddie to the stairs and remained a tread behind him as you both climbed. Once on the second floor, you ushered him to his room. He left the door ajar and lights off. You padded to your room, pocketed the couple of condom packets you’d stolen days ago from Steve’s nightstand, and slunk to Eddie’s room.

He sat at the head of the bed, blanket hiding his lower half with his t-shirt covering the upper. You closed the door and locked it. By the meager light coming through the window, you found the nearest lamp and clicked it on.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, sure, fine, why?”

The sport coat and track pants draped across the armchair. The sneakers and socks lay jumbled by the bathroom door.

“Just asking.”

You crossed the room and set the condom packets on the nightstand at Eddie’s side. He remained motionless, hands hidden in the rumpled sheets. You perched at the edge of the bed while he stared at the condoms.

Something was off. He should be flirting or reaching for you. What had happened between kissing you, saying he couldn’t wait to be with you, and now? Most guys would be naked and panting like a dog for sex.

With a minute shrug, you said, “If you don’t want to…”

“No! No, I do. Trust me, I do.”

“But…?”

He exhaled.

“I don’t… You should know, I don’t look the same.”

“I’ve seen you in only a towel. I’m aware of what you look like.”

“That’s not up close and personal.”

“You think I’m going to run screaming from some scars?”

He said, “Look, baby, I’m a horror show under this,” and plucked at the t-shirt.

You let out an exasperated sound. “Are you trying to push me away? Again?”

“No—”

“Do you not want me?”

“Oh my god, I want you.” He scooted to you and cupped your face. “I’ve wanted you for weeks. Months!”

“Well, me too!” You held one of his wrists. “Anything you got under there is gonna work for me, okay?”

He scanned your face, gaze roaming from your eyes to your lips and back.

The protective blessing you’d placed in his handkerchief had failed you — and him. Your magic had been nothing compared to Vecna’s power. Eddie had pushed out the hivemind on his own. He was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for.

Through a constricted throat, you said, “Your blood soaked through your clothes.” Your eyes pricked with tears. “You di-died in front of me.”

Eddie leaned in, crushing your lips together. You forgot about tears and the feel of his blood thick between your fingers. He tilted your head. His lips, puffy and slick, glided across yours.

“I’m here,” he said, and kissed you again. “I’m right here.”

You kissed him in reply, letting your greed and relief guide you.

You shimmied your jacket off your shoulders. His hands went to your arms to help tug it off. You grinned into the kiss when the fabric caught on your forearms. He huffed, amused, before yanking at the sleeves. You shook your arms free and flung the jacket.

Planting a knee on the bed, you crowded him back onto the pillows. He put his hands at your waist and pulled you onto him. You straddled his hips, the linens bunching between you.

He hauled you up his body to tuck his face against your throat. He mouthed and bit at your neck, all hesitation thrown to the side. You encouraged him with a whimper and fingers gripping his hair. His soft lips left a fiery line as his hands grabbed your ass.

You arched your back. Your ribs pumped with every rapid breath.

“Wanna eat you alive,” he said. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

“Want you, too.”

Teeth scraped under your jaw, catching on the sore hickey there. You gasped, yet refused to shy away. Let him bite and draw blood. Let it hurt. You could heal yourself.

With a groan, he dug his teeth midway down your neck. The sting made your spine melt. His palms slid up your back, taking your shirt with them. Then he sucked, and you felt it between your legs.

You ground against him — as much as you could through the layers of fabric. You needed to feel his heat, taste his skin and scars. Because he was alive, and you were in his bed.

When he released your skin, sensation beyond pain, beyond heat, bloomed through your neck. It rang in your ears, fisted a groan from your lungs, stole your strength. He folded his rangy arms around you and grazed his lips over the spit-wet spot.

You closed your eyes with a hum.

He kissed you from jaw to cheek. He even kissed your chin. You curled to catch his lips in a languid kiss. It went aggressive in a handful of seconds. You couldn’t tell who set it in motion, but you’d follow it through with sucking on the tip of his tongue and biting his lip. He shivered and squirmed and held onto your waist.

You broke the kiss to leave him reeling.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He nodded, eyes half-closed.

“Then let me take care of what’s mine.”

Again, he nodded.

You directed Eddie’s hands to the pillow, letting your fingertips linger on the silky insides of his forearms. His t-shirt sleeves slipped up to expose scarring on his upper arms. You pressed your lips to the delicate scar tissue.

He inhaled sharply.

You whispered, “It’s okay.”

He closed his eyes with a brief nod.

You kissed the scar on his jaw and the faint one at the side of his neck. He angled his chin to expose himself. In reward, you kissed his lips. His muscles unspooled. You brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones.

“I got you.”

“I know.”

You wiggled down his torso and sat up. Oh-so slowly, you skimmed your hands under his t-shirt to his sides. The jagged edge of a bigger patch on his torso peeked from under the t-shirt’s hem. The uneven texture of the scars didn’t feel ugly or rough. They were interesting, and you wanted to see them.

He clapped his hands over yours.

You met his uneasy gaze and waited, keeping your expression open. While you could offer platitudes or compliments, they’d ring hollow. He knew how you felt and how you viewed him. It was only a matter of time for him to gain confidence — or at least trust you.

His hold relaxed, then gradually drifted away.

You followed the taper of his torso until you held his undulating ribs. With the t-shirt bunched at his pecs, you could assess the havoc the bats had wrought. Beyond the patch on his lower torso was a line of bites and healed sutures on his left. A wedge of pink scar tissue defaced the right side of his ribs. Between the larger patches were claw and teeth marks.

You traced them with a light touch before looking at his face. His teeth dug into his lip as his gaze jumped from between your bodies to the side to your face and back again.

“So, this is the horror show you promised?” you asked with a playful look.

He frowned, mouth opening.

Before he spoke, you asked, “Can you feel my touch?”

He wet his lips and nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t—”

“No, I don’t whatever. I’m not grossed out.”

To prove your point, you bent to kiss the bite mark on his sternum. The satiny, pitted skin wasn’t disgusting. It was just skin — that smelled like him. You nudged the t-shirt higher to get at his left nipple. You teased it with your tongue, and he stilled. You pinched it between your teeth, and he arched against your lips. You soothed the tiny hurt with a kiss, and he gasped.

You inched the t-shirt higher until you propelled his arms up. He took over and snatched the t-shirt over his head. He dropped it beside the bed as you caressed his chest.

Only fragments of his demon-head and black-widow tattoos were visible around a darker scar. You followed the scar’s border with your fingers and pouted at the loss of the tattoos. Not because they were the most beautiful you’d ever seen, but because they’d been Eddie’s.

“You can have these redone.”

“Nah, I’d rather get a cover-up.”

You smiled before bending to pepper kisses on the scar.

“That’s going to be a big cover-up, honey.” You kissed your way from the scar to the dip of his throat. “Maybe I can hold your hand through it.”

He tilted his head back with a soft groan. You angled his chin to the side and sucked at the hot skin of his neck, giving him a faint hickey. You kissed your way up to his ear and sucked on the lobe.

With a near growl, he said, “God, I can’t—” and pulled you into a burning kiss.

You opened for him as he teased your tongue with his own. He kissed your hot cheeks and your forehead. His hands surged down your sides, then under your shirt. You straightened onto your knees and stripped off your shirt and bra. Your nipples puckered in the cooler air.

His hips jerked as his hands gripped your hips. He stared at your chest and licked his lips.

Instead of asking if he wanted to touch, because that seemed obvious, you bent and guided his hands to your breasts. You encouraged him to support them, squeeze them, while you watched his flushed face.

He circled your nipples with his thumbs, his touch graceful yet electrifying. A feeling like goosebumps trickled through your gut and had your thighs tensing. You curved into his caress in encouragement. Your underwear’s saturated cotton grazed your pussy, and you wished it was his cock.

Eddie held your ribs and rose to bury his face between your breasts. He mouthed at the valley between them and kissed the beginning swells. You held the back of his head. He sucked at one nipple, then the other. That goosebump feeling intensified until you were a quivering mess.

He undid your jeans, and your eyes popped open. He looked at you through his pretty lashes. There was a voracity in his dark gaze that said only you could slake his need — and you wanted to be the only one to do it, too.

“This okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Y-yeah.”

With no hesitation, his hand slithered between your stomach and underwear. It burned a line down the curve of your belly through your pubic hair. His middle and ring fingers glided between your wet folds. You gripped his shoulders, hard muscle moved under his skin.

The first long stroke to your clit had your nails digging into his skin and sucking air between your teeth. You couldn’t stop the tiny sound you made. He nibbled at your collarbone, teeth scraped your skin. You leaned your weight against him as your watery legs trembled. His free arm held you upright by the waist.

Rather than circle your clit, he kept stroking. The first wash of pleasure fueled you to move your hips counter to his fingers. His calluses pulled at the hood of your clit, then drove it down. He pressed harder, sparking a sensation deeper than your clit.

Your focus narrowed to your rising orgasm and the thought of his cock pumping deep inside your juicy cunt. You wanted to feel his strong hands restraining you, his sweat-slick skin on yours, and his lush mouth between your legs.

An animalistic keen left your throat at the jumble of images. Your heart hammered in your ears. You rode that knife-edge of climax. It was right there.

“C’mon, baby, fuck those fingers.”

You moaned, doing as he ordered, until ecstasy forced its way through you — so hard, so deep. The internal throb of it stole your strength as it went on and on. You crumbled, putting more of your weight on him. He held you without protest.

“Can feel it,” he said, petting your oversensitive clit.

You writhed in his arms and begged for something you couldn’t put words to. He kissed your throat as he lay still pressure on your clit. Your cunt pulsed strong enough that your hips moved of their own volition.

After a moment, he pulled his hand from your underwear and brought his fingers to his mouth. You sat on his thighs to watch him suck at his wet fingers. He hummed in satisfaction. Your cunt pulsed one last time, as though it hadn’t had enough.

Maybe it hadn’t.

He met your gaze and offered his flushed lips for a kiss. You cradled the back of his head and kissed him with unexpected fervor. You tasted the tang of your own come on his tongue. He held your face, sticky fingers on your cheek, and pushed into the kiss. You sucked your flavor off his bottom lip, pulling a moan from his chest.

“Take the rest off,” he said, falling onto his back.

“You too.”

He smirked.

“Not much more to go.”

You let your eyes track from his chest to the wrinkled lump of blanket covering his groin. Despite knowing, intimately, what was underneath, getting him naked continued to be a thrill.

“Good.”

He blushed, and his smirk softened.

You climbed off him to sit at the edge of the bed. You untied your Docs and wrenched them off. Your socks followed. Eddie kicked the blanket away. While he wiggled out of his briefs, you hooked your thumbs in your underwear and jeans, rising enough from the bed to slide them down your hips and off your legs.

You pivoted on a hip to find him reaching for a condom. His eyes went wide with a question. Or like you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. You bent a leg on the bed and plucked a condom from the pile before he could.

“You know,” you said, holding the condom like a cigarette between your fingers. “I think I need to get on the pill.” You got on all fours. “Or get an IUD, or something.”

Sounding on tenterhooks, he asked, “Why’s that?”

You crawled between his legs. He spread his thighs to make room for you.

“So I can have you raw.”

He let out a breath, cheeks reddening further, and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. A thick bead of precome pearled at its slit.

“Would you like that, honey?”

“Shit, you know I would.”

You gave him a playful wink before hunching to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned through a smile, squeezing his cock. You savored the salty taste of him.

You tapped at the back of his hand.

“Let go.”

“I swear, I’m gonna blow in, like, ten seconds flat.”

You sat on your calves with a self-satisfied shrug. He needed to feel as good as he’d made you feel. If that happened quickly, that was fine with you because—

“We got all night,” you said, and tore open the condom packet.

He still hadn’t released his hold.

“Eddie, honey, let go.”

“Just—” He swallowed. “Get it halfway down first.”

You pulled out the lubed condom and discarded the wrapper. He bit his lip, looking as though you were about to perform surgery on him. Keeping your touch light and at the minimum, you pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it over his shaft until it met his fingers.

He shuddered with eyes closed and a crease between his brows.

You said, “Let go.”

He exhaled and thumped his fists to the bed. You wasted no time in rolling the condom the rest of the way down. He panted and keened. His cock twitched in your hand, but you wiped your palms on the sheets before he could embarrass himself.

With a gentle shush, you caressed his hips and ran your thumbs in the shallow groove of muscle on either side. You kept at it until his breathing slowed and tense thighs relaxed.

You maneuvered your knees on either side of him and balanced yourself with a hand on his chest.

“Ready?”

When he nodded, you reached between your bodies to brace his erection. You were so ready, so wet, for this. Even the feeling of the condom didn’t turn you off. You found your hole and eased onto his thick cock, inch by slick inch.

Once you settled, you had to give yourself a moment. You sat with hands on your thighs while you adjusted to the fullness. He felt perfect and delicious. You looked at Eddie to see him watching you, bottom lip between his teeth and fingers digging into the mattress. Emotion filled his bright eyes.

You wanted to soothe him, but if you moved, it would set off a chain reaction he’d been trying to suppress.

“Don’t think.”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Trying not to.”

If you didn’t take the initiative, he would torture himself for the rest of the evening. You rotated your pelvis. The simple movement made you gasp. It had been so long, and you were so eager for this with him. Under you, he choked on a desperate sound.

“I can’t wait to feel you without any barriers,” you said, rotating your pelvis again. “Feel you come deep inside me.”

He grabbed your hips to propel your movements.

“I’ll fill you up,” he said.

You planted your hands on his chest with a groan and rode him like he wanted you to. You rose only to sink down a second later, never letting him slip out. His hands glided up your sides. With a hum, you encouraged him to touch you — touch you anywhere, everywhere. You couldn’t get enough of his cock, of his nimble hands, of his body tight against yours.

Your need ramped to a boiling fever, some thrilling sickness. You bent to kiss him, sucking on his lip and tongue, as you rolled your hips in a frantic rhythm. Your skin slapped against his, but it wasn’t enough. You hid your face in his shoulder and whimpered when you found no relief.

His arms looped across your back, as if you’d try to escape. Like you could get away from this desire.

You stilled in time for him to roll to the side and on top of you. He pushed his cock deep. You mewled, your thighs stretched around his hips.

His gaze roved over your features.

“I’m gonna fill your sweet pussy.”

You nodded.

He said, “I’ll make you come.”

You closed your eyes as you imagined it. Hands all over you, gripping you, going between your legs, holding you steady as he worked your body. Your cunt clenched at the image.

“Because you’re mine, too.”

You nodded once more.

He adjusted his stance, knees dipping into the mattress. He grasped one of your shoulders as you held onto his arms with shaking hands.

“Look at me and tell me you love me.”

You stared into his eyes. It was all written out there for you to see: no denial, no hiding, and no more doubt.

“I love you.”

He caught your lips and kissed you so thoroughly you forgot anything beyond him. His hold tightened. His hips minutely rocked. His heavy cock kindled that heat hidden inside.

You moaned against his lips and pulled at him. He needed to move. You’d been wanting him for what felt like years. You’d both gone through hell, seen oblivion, and returned to each other’s side. You needed him to move — now.

He buried his face in your neck, lips against the marks he’d left. The rocking of his hips descended into grinding, then full-out thrusting. He fucked you hard. His cock dragged at the underside of your aching clit. The bed springs whined every time he bottomed out.

You couldn’t catch your breath as his thrusts became desperate. He yanked at your hair to bare your throat. His long hair — that smelled of your shampoo — veiled your humid face.

He kissed his marks and murmured something you couldn’t make out. You agreed anyway. He groaned in reply, driving you down while he thrust up. The sheets stuck to the sweat on your back. His hips snapped forward over and over, his cock ramming deep. You tried your best to move with him, but he was too fast.

Then you couldn’t move at all. Your belly quivered and your thighs tensed. His cock was too much. You strained against him, with him, until that fever broke. You shook in his arms. Your jaw clenched. Orgasm burned through you like a geyser. It sizzled up your spine. You couldn’t catch your breath. Hot tears trickled over your temples in rapturous agony.

Eddie fucked you through it, holding you tight. Your cunt throbbed and clamped around his pistoning length. He cursed in needy growls until he seized, breathless. His voice cracked. His thrusts slowed, yet remained fierce, as his cock pulsed with each thrust.

He stuttered a jumble of cut-off thoughts, all of them flattering and loving. You grinned and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging his sides with your thighs. He mouthed at your neck lazily.

After a tranquil moment, he kissed you, gentle yet demanding. You felt him — every bit of him. His lips tasted of salt. His hands sheltered and cradled. His gaze warmed you. You could only respond in kind. He melted as you smoothed his hair away from his flushed, glowing face.

He kissed you one more time before steadying the condom and slipping out of you.

You relaxed, allowing your tired limbs to sink to the bed. He rolled to the side and dropped the condom on the heap of his dirty clothes. You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t comment. He flopped beside you and pillowed his head on a bent arm. The heating system kicked on. Your sweat cooled as you contemplated getting out of bed. Instead, you tucked your feet between the folds of the blanket.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said.

You hummed in acknowledgement and glanced at him.

“I was thinking, and you might not be into this, but you want to go to LA? With me?”

You stared at the ceiling.

Los Angeles: broken glass glittering in gutters, live music every night, fluttering neon, cars with their tops down, a bland apartment with a mattress on the floor, your feet warmed by sunshine as you read the newspaper’s entertainment section, Eddie writing songs at the kitchen table.

A smile spread across your face.

“Hell yeah.”

[kteabug]

Title: with the ghost of you

Pairing: UshiOi / UshiTen

Word Count: 2,043

There’s an old tradition, now outdated to many, that when an alpha’s mate dies, they mute their scent. It was after all their scent that attracted their beloved so what was the point in flaring it out if their mate wasn’t there to pick up on it?

The tradition, like most do, morphed throughout the years. At first it was said the alpha’s scent was muted until the day they met their mate in the afterlife. Then it became the alpha muted it until their mourning period was over which usually lasted months before it was contained to the grieving period of for weeks. Nowadays, it’s typically muted until after the funeral and then all is back to normal.

But not with Ushijima Wakatoshi. His mate was lost in a sudden and tragic accident two years ago, leaving the alpha beside himself. His mate was the better part of every aspect of him, not only had he complimented him, but he raised him up. Everything that Ushijima ever was was because of his mate and that was all gone.

The two had been so intertwined that the alpha had no idea what his scent would even smell like without his mate’s lacing it. For as long as he could remember, their interlaced scent was his own, and despite it slowly fading away, he doesn’t want to know what his pheromones alone are like. He doesn't mind the staleness of the air around him, he long became nose blind to his mate’s pheromones, so not smelling anything doesn’t matter.

When younger, Ushijima moved after his parents divorce and for a brief time was away from his mate, but he swore the next time he saw him (in high school) he would make up for their time spent separated. And he did — he doted on the omega, gave him a perfect courtship and mating experience. To Ushi, his mate, the omega he bonded himself to for life, was his beginning and end, first and only — no one could simply ever compare. Which is why he can’t just move on like his family wants, for him there is and was only one omega, he was fine being alone.

Why was it so hard for people to understand his loss? That he never got to say goodbye, had no time or warning to come to terms with the fact he’d be losing his everything. He woke up on a regular Tuesday happily mated and went to bed a sobbing broken mess. Some tried telling Ushi it was better that way, that he didn’t have to watch his beloved deteriorate but losing the other half of your soul hurt regardless.

The alpha decided that he needed to get away from the relatives hounding him to stop mourning and find another mate. But his former mate was perfect, there would never be another one for him. Ushijima believed that true love was found once and when he gave his former mate his heart, he never intended to give it to someone else. So he went to the farmers market, a place his relatives wouldn’t go and for fresh air — it was a favorite place of his late mate as well.

The warm breezes danced across his skin as he took a deep breath. The local farmer’s market was often attended by the couple nearly every month. Afternoons spent walking around, looking at various foods and crafts, sometimes they’d even have a picnic to end the day. Someone once told the alpha to never stop dating his partner, so he made sure that bubbly excitement never left their relationship. Everyday was like the first day of their marriage; the two happily entangled within one another.

The alpha gave small smiles as he walked by tables, some knew him by name and offered him small samples — being here makes him feel closer to his mate than the tombstone did. A wind chime filled the air following a light minty scent that immediately stirred Ushi’s alpha. He looked around the stalls before seeing a brunette omega standing behind a vendor stall. His legs just moved, nearly sprinting towards the stand he’d never seen before.

Big brown eyes met his with a huge smile, “hello, would you like some honey?”

Ushi took a moment, honey was the pet name his mate called him by often but then he sees the arrangement of short glass honey jars. The stall had a soft teal sign with little bumble bee decorations — a light color wooden hexagon display houses a few jars and they’re organized by color. Though it was a simple set-up, Ushijima could see the care and detail put into it. There were doilies under the jars that had beautiful ribbon wrapped around the neck and what looked like handwritten labels, describing the type of honey it is.

There’s something warm and familiar about the brunette omega that Ushijima couldn’t help but feel drawn to.

“Oh, uh, no thank you.” He patted his pockets, “actually I ran out without my wallet.” He felt embarrassed for some reason, unsure why because he doesn’t even know them.”

”What about a sample then?” A big bright smile flashed at him and who was he to say no?

* *

That’s how the alpha found himself frequently visiting the farmer’s market every other week. At first he told himself it was simply to buy a jar to pay the omega back in a way and maybe also show he could remember his wallet. But he wasn’t there and no one really knew who Ushijima was talking about. It was a few weeks after the initial run-in when that fluffy brown hair popped back into his line of sight and he swore his heart skipped.

The omega was facing away from him, but once he turned and made eye contact with Ushi, a huge smile beamed at the alpha. A teasing banter ensued between the pair, the brunette asking if he actually had his wallet and to see it to make sure. Ushijima remarked of course he had it, he’s an alpha of his word only to temporarily panic because his wallet was in his jacket rather than his pants. Which got a laugh from the omega, it sounded angelic — like the harmonious sound that came from a wind chime in a spring breeze. To ‘apologize’ for laughing, Ushijima was given another free sample with his purchase.

Without really noticing, Ushijima found himself visiting the farmer’s market on days when he missed his mate the most or on horrible days when he felt he couldn't breathe. He goes on his own birthday because he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after spending so many birthdays showered in love. He goes on his late mate’s birthday because he couldn’t stand the silence of it now just being a ‘regular’ day and then again on their wedding anniversary. It’s not until the brunette mentioned it that he realized what he’s done.

”I’m glad this place brings you some peace.”

”What do you mean?”

”Most days you visit, right between your brow is always wrinkled tightly, but as you walk around and talk, it loosen up and you seem to relax.”

Suddenly he felt horrible because he looked at all the days he’s wandered around the market and saw the pattern. Though the brunette never said it, the olive-haired alpha felt he’s been using the kind omega to forget his mate — that opened a whole other dilemma. How can his alpha find peace in another omega when he promised his entire life to another? They had spent most of their lives together, their scent so fused together that no one could separate the two yet his seemed swayed. He still had the courting blanket he gave his mate put inside a scent sealing memory box on his dresser so there’s a part of his mate where he could still see him.

He promised forever to one omega, one beautiful and perfect omega — he couldn’t betray them by forgetting them. But his mind often wandered to the minty omega selling homemade honey and found himself wanting to see him. His alpha was alert, a change from its more dormant stance since their omega died — actually excited about the smell of mint and honey. Almost as if it was an old friend rather than a newer scent. It calmed his alpha, excited his alpha and nearly gave his alpha a sense of peace and closure.

This time Ushi found himself at the market purposefully to see the brunette, wanting to get lost in the old comforting scent that let him feel ease. Just like every time before, fluffy hair bounced towards him, a beaming smile with that lovely scent surrounding him. His alpha crooning caused his chest to nearly vibrate with anticipation — it’d been years since he felt such jitters, not since…

He shook his head, while he still adored his late mate, something inside him finally felt okay. This brunette omega had truly helped Ushijima through his darkest days and felt more comfortable being himself again.

“Green tea and cucumbers, my favorite fragrance.” The omega says, surprising Ushijima. It sounds like a scent he remembers, but can’t quite place his finger on it. The brunette leans close, his fluffy hair tickets his jawline and he is very aware of how close the two suddenly are. “Your scent, Ushi — refreshing cucumbers with herbal-earth green tea. It’s restoring.”

Tears prick his eyes, he can smell it — his own individual pheromones without his mate mate’s. Jus this. No sweet honey. No soothing mint. No…he takes a second before it all clicks and when he looks at the omega again, he sees him.

Tooru.

His Tooru.

His heart hammers into his chest, how? How was that even possible?

”H-how…?”

”For this — to help you move on.” Tooru beams that beautiful smile at the alpha, “it’s time for you to be happy again, Toshi.”

“But you…your here and can stay…we can be happy and and —“

A bittersweet smile graces Tooru’s face, “our time was beautiful and unforgettable, but…”

“You can’t stay. Cause this isn’t real.”

”…no…no it isn’t.”

”I’ll always love you, Tooru.”

“I know and I love you endlessly, but you deserve someone to give all that love you still have to.” A warm breeze wraps around Ushijima, brushing gently against his cheek and he knows in a way it was his Tooru’s way of saying a final goodbye.

“Uh, excuse me?”

Ushijima sniffles before turning around, seeing a redhead standing behind the stand he once saw filled with honey jars.

”Here,” he holds out a cellophane bag with a homemade pastry in it, “you seem like you need a pick me up and sweets make everything better.”

“Oh?” Ushijima picks up on the spicy citrus scent of oranges and nutmeg that comes from the omega and his alpha feels giddy like he first time he saw Tooru all those years ago. “Is that so?”

The redhead’s cheeks start to burn a bright pink, averting his eyes when their fingers touch. “Doesn’t hurt to try, no?”

”No. No it doesn’t.” Ushijima smiles, looking around the booth.

There’s a sign that reads: Satori’s Sweets. Neatly labeled baskets with various desserts in each. There’s also small tags near the baskets with allergen notices and the alternative products used since sometimes there’s adverse reactions to alternatives.

“Uh— you have a uhm, nice set-up.”

Satori’s eyes light up, “thanks! I picked this spot because I was told it’s next to a very popular picnic area.”

Flashes of the many many memories he spent just five feet away from where they stood fill his mind. Ushi smiles for a moment before letting himself picture a certain redhead on one of those picnics.

”Would you like to go out some time?”

The omega seems confused for a second, the question comes out of nowhere from the man he’s literally just met. Subconsciously, cucumber and green tea start to pour out — flaring out one’s pheromones is how one finds a mate after all.

Satori takes a deep breath before humming, “I don’t go out with knot heads who don’t tell me their names.”

”I’m Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

“Tendo Satori and I’d love to.”