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chaotic-for-good · 5 months ago

Text

games

Luigi Mangione x Reader

NSFW 18+

summary: reader plays games with Luigi after missing him while he’s gone on a work trip. He reminds her who she belongs to.

cw: soft dom brat tamer lulu, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm control, edging, use of toys, established relationship, choking, he has a lot to say, you can bet he’s throwing reader around while he says it

author’s note: my first ever post on tumblr be nice to me I’m soft. longtime smut reader first time writer 🤗

When you finally caught his eye as your gaze slid down the dimly lit bar, you knew you were playing with fire. Seeing precisely the reaction you’d hoped for flash across his face ignited all your pent-up longing with a spark of glee: the sharp line of his jaw, shadowed lightly with second day stubble, twitched as he subtly lifted a brow and poked his tongue in his cheek. Nothing the baby-faced intern, still scratching his sparse mustache as they spoke, would ever notice. But for you, the message was unmistakeable: that’s enough.

Under normal circumstances, that would have been enough. You would have stopped brushing your coworker’s arm, found a polite way to bow out of whatever mindless small talk you were engaged in, and slinked back down the bar to his side, proving just how well-behaved you could be for him.

But the days spent apart and untended while he traveled to and from a work conference had made the throbbing between your legs unbearable. Desperate for a sliver of his attention, you knew you’d have to push him further to make him focus on you the way you’d been aching for all week.

You swept your long hair off your shoulder just how you knew he loved, pretending not to clock his reaction. Giggling sweetly at whatever comment your colleague made, you bit your lip lightly and smiled through your lashes over the rim of your martini. You weren’t even listening to what was being said anymore. The only thing that mattered was the game you’d just set in motion—and you knew if you showed your cards too soon, it’d be over before it had even begun.

You were still calculating how best to sneak another glance at him when suddenly, his broad frame loomed behind you, his large hand grazing the crepe fabric of your dress.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted lightly, his voice smooth, expression controlled—but the dark flash in his eyes betrayed him. He swept over to your coworker, offering a warm smile. “I don’t think we’ve met, have we?” Extending a hand, he continued, “I’m Luigi, y/n’s boyfriend.”

He punctuated boyfriend with a casual but deliberate dig of his knuckle into the small of your back, making you straighten on instinct, covering your sharp intake of breath by clearing your throat.

“Oh yeah, she’s mentioned you!” Mark—or was it Mike?—responded enthusiastically. “I’m Mike,” (oops). He reached out to grasp Luigi’s extended hand. “You’re an engineer, too, right?”

“I am,” Luigi smiled wide, his straight, white teeth and dimples on full display. “And I’d love to talk shop, Mike, but unfortunately traffic is picking up and y/n and I are now running a little late for our next engagement. Will you forgive me if I steal her?” He cast Mike an apologetic grimace.

“Hey man, no worries, yeah!” Mike responded, clearly confused by Luigi’s abrupt call to exit. He was already helping you into your coat as Mike trickled off, “Well, good talking to you, y/n.”

You threw back the last swig of your perfectly bruised martini, setting the glass on the bar and sending a questioning look toward him as you looped your purse onto your shoulder. But he didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t even look your way—just grabbed your hand, squeezing authoritatively as he angled for the door.

“We’ll catch up soon, yeah?” Luigi called over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response or look at you at all as he led you into the cool night air. The moment you reached the back of his black SUV, he was on you.

His long fingers clamped over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, steering you roughly toward the passenger side.

“Hope you understand what you’ve started, brat.” He murmured, a restrained smile flickering over his lips as he opened the door—no trace of that earlier warmth to be found.

“What do you mean, Lu?” You asked innocently, ignoring the dig. You hesitated, resting a hand on the dashboard. “I didn’t know we had other plans.”

His jaw flexed. “You and I both knew what was going to happen next when you went acting up like that in there.”

Before you could respond, he gripped your ass, hoisting you into the car as he held the door open. Now seated, he locked his hand around your neck, tilting your chin up until your forehead was almost pressed against his. Your breath hitched.

“You wanted my attention, yeah, y/n?” His voice was low, teasing—dangerous. “Let’s see how much you like it.”

With that, he pulled the seatbelt over you, clicked it into place, and slammed the door shut.

The second he was out of sight, you exhaled shakily, your chest heaving with the effort to appear composed. Squeezing your thighs together, you fought for relief against the building ache between your legs. As he slid into the driver’s seat, you forced your hands into your lap, smoothing your floral dress, schooling your expression into something demure.

You knew all too well—if he saw how much his reaction was affecting you, he’d make you suffer for it.

One hand on the steering wheel, he tugged at his collar with the other, his patterned button-down slightly wrinkled from the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t speak as he pulled onto the narrow one-way street toward his house.

The longer the silence stretched, the more your nerves prickled. His dark brows were drawn, jaw set.

Had you overshot?

You only wanted to tease him—just enough to get him to remind you who you belonged to. It was just a game. Right?

The car jerked to a stop outside his house. He threw it into park, finally turning to look at you.

His eyes burned with something almost feral.

“We’re both going inside.” His voice was calm, brutal. “You will go directly to the bedroom. Undress. On your back. Legs open. Keep still—or else.”

The words sent molten heat pooling between your thighs. You scrambled out of the car, practically tripping over yourself as you hurried into the house to make your way to his bed.

As soon as you were in his room, you hastily started stripping off your dress. Your fingers trembled, pulling at the fabric as anticipation thrummed through you. By the time you were on the bed, legs spread just as he’d ordered, you were soaked.

And then—nothing.

Minutes passed. You clenched your fists in his sheets, fighting the urge to touch yourself, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You didn’t even realize he’d been watching.

“That desperate already, huh, pretty girl?”

His voice made you jolt.

He was leaning against the doorframe, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, taking his time drinking in the sight of you.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered, any attempt at appearing unaffected crumbling under the weight of his stare.

Pushing off the wall, he approached the bed slowly, methodically. The way his muscles flexed beneath his button-down as he tugged it loose from his slacks was almost obscene. You barely caught yourself propping up on your elbows for a better look—

A mistake.

In an instant, he was over you, yanking your wrists into one hand, delivering a smack to your throbbing cunt. You moaned, hips twitching, desperate for more.

“What did I say about moving?”

Your lip quivered. His hands slid under your hips, yanking you down the bed, trapping you between his strong thighs.

“Seems like you need a reminder about who’s in charge, yeah, baby?” His voice was dark amusement as he continued to unbutton his shirt, inspecting you through hooded brown eyes.

His smirk turned predatory. “Well, all you had to do was ask.”

You barely had time to gasp before his fingers were between your legs, taunting—taking his time. The game wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

He slides one inside, crooking it just right, pressing it against that perfect spot as if to say, good luck.

You thrash beneath him, moaning, “yes, Luigi,” and just as quickly, he withdraws, leaving you clenching around nothing, the sudden loss making you keen with frustration.

“So fucking needy, aren’t you?” He taunts, licking his lips as he watches you squirm.

Locking you between his legs once again, Luigi takes his time, pulling off his shirt agonizingly slowly before moving lower, unbuckling his brown leather belt. His movements are deliberate, meant to draw your attention—and it works. Your breath stutters as the belt slides free from its loops, your eyes fixated on the thick outline of his cock, hard and straining beneath his slacks.

When he finally pulls the belt free, he wraps it firmly around your wrists, securing it with a satisfied smirk. He chuckles mildly at your whining response.

Digging through his bedside drawer, he extracts a bottle of lube and the navy blue vibrator—your favorite, usually. Tonight, it feels like a threat.

He pushes your bound wrists above your head, pinning them in place. A moment later, he drips the slick fluid onto your swollen clit, cool against your overheated skin. Your hips jerk instinctively, but his hand on your low belly holds you still.

Then—click, click, click, click. He brings the vibrator immediately to full intensity, its buzz unrelenting.

You gasp sharply, arching your back, but he’s not done. With two fingers, he spreads your hood up, exposing your delicate bud completely before pressing the vibrator directly against you as he crouches between your legs.

The shockwaves radiate through your entire body. You can’t hold still. It’s too much, and yet, not nearly enough.

The tension, the torment, the denial—it’s been building all night, and now you’re hurtling toward your climax at record speed.

And then—he yanks the vibrator away from your core, just as you’re about to unravel.

You all but wail in response, wrists jerking against the belt, hips rolling uselessly toward nothing.

“Look at you, baby,” he coos at you. “Thought I’d let you get off that easy?”

He strokes the soft skin of your trembling thighs with contrary sweetness to his biting remark.

“After toying with me like that at the bar, you’re going to have to prove to me you can behave if you want to come tonight.”

“Please,” you bear out through gritted teeth.

His eyes flash, predatory amusement flickering across his face. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

His taunts are relentless, but softened by the tender touch he continuously peppers you with: pressing kisses along your twitching thighs, fingertips caressing your cheeks as you gasp and shudder beneath him.

“More than anything,” you huff out, gritting your teeth.

Satisfied with your answer, the vibrator’s unforgiving buzz returns, rumbling against your overstimulated clit, a merciless, throbbing pulse. You’re so close again, so fucking close—

Just when he removes it from your heat once again.

You scream, almost sobbing, cursing and writhing against him.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he murmurs, tracing soothing circles along your hips, but his grin is nothing short of smug.

“You’re so fucking dramatic, baby,” he shakes his head. “Shaking and falling apart. I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You whimper, chest heaving, body trembling uncontrollably. Your skin is burning with frustration.

“Think you can behave now?” He taunts, running his knuckles over your soaked folds, teasing along your entrance but refusing to give you what you really need.

Your hips buck uselessly after his hand, chasing any kind of friction. “Yes, yes, please, I swear. I swear,” you sob.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” He glides his fingers between your sensitive folds, keeping you on the ledge. “You look so pretty like this—" he dips in, just the tips of his index and middle finger, before pulling away again. “Maybe I should keep you here a little longer.”

“Luigi, please,” you beg, gripping his forearm like a vice.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans. His resistance begins to crack as he watches you tremble, the grit in his response showing you just how worked up he is for you. Then, with one smooth motion, he plunges two fingers into your desperate, dripping heat.

Your head snaps back, mouth falling open in a soundless cry as your entire body melts beneath him. The relief is so immediate, so overwhelming, you barely register the sharp curl of his fingers, dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

He keeps them there, pressing, stroking, working you open, watching with blown pupils as your thighs quiver and shake.

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, dragging his teeth against your skin. “Taking what I give you, just like you should.”

He rolls your peaked nipple with one hand as his fingers keep moving inside you—deep, slow, deliberate—but you both know it’s not enough. You’re too strung out from all the denial, and even as your walls flutter around him, you know you need more.

Your hands jerk uselessly against the belt around your wrists, the leather biting into your skin as you try to grab him, pull him closer. “Need you,” you whimper. “Please, Luigi—please.”

His dark eyes flick up to yours, hot and unreadable for an instant before he smirks.

“Oh, now you need me?” He curls his fingers sharply, wrenching a sob from your throat. “Could’ve sworn you were doing just fine teasing me all night.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you rush out, the words spilling from your lips, messy, frantic. “I swear, I’ll be good, I just—fuck, I need you.”

His smirk deepens. “Mmm,” he sighs. “That’s better.”

He withdraws his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your wrecked expression with admiration as he spreads your slick with his fingertips. “So fucking wet for me, amore.” He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning softly at your taste. “Jesus. Should’ve made you wait even longer.”

You whimper, squirming, arching up toward him helplessly. “No, no, please—”

“Shhh, shhh—I’ve got you.”

He grabs your chin, tilting your face up, catching your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss that leaves you panting. He’s done teasing now—you can taste it in the way his tongue claims you, the way his grip tightens around your jaw.

Then, finally, finally, he sits back on his knees, pushing his slacks and fitted briefs down in one fell swoop. His cock springs free: thick, heavy, his tip dripping precum.

The sight of him alone makes you whimper, legs spreading wider on instinct.

He strokes himself lazily, teasing you with the sight, but you’re so far gone, your body writhing, begging, aching—you can’t handle another second.

“Please,” you sob. “Need to feel you. Please, Luigi—”

His gaze softens—just a flicker, just for a second, before he gives in.

“Yeah, baby?” He knits his dark brows together, mischief and lust playing behind his eyes. “Need me to take care of you?”

You nod furiously as he lines himself up, running the thick head of his cock against your clit before dipping into your dripping folds, pressing just the tip inside before stopping.

Your breath catches, every nerve on fire.

He leans down, forehead to yours, voice a low, dark whisper.

“Then take it,” he whispers, forcing his entire length into you in one fell stroke.

Your eyes flutter shut as you cry out, body instinctively clenching as he stretches you, slow and deliberate.

Now edging back toward sweetness after making you endure his punishment, he thrusts into you with measured control, making sure you feel every inch. His fingers thread through your hair, gently but firmly tilting your face toward him.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark with intent. “Look at me when I give you what you’ve been begging for.”

He starts slow, rolling his hips with each stroke, pressing deep, hitting that perfect spot over and over. The coil inside you tightens, heat pooling and spreading through every nerve.

“You want to come on this big cock, pretty girl?” he taunts, his breath hot against your skin. “Show me.”

You meet him halfway, rolling your hips up, urging him deeper. When your hands grip the back of his neck, he stills for just a second—then shifts, lifting your hips and sliding a pillow beneath you as he throws your legs over his shoulders, angling for more.

“That’s it,” he grunts, palm landing on your ass before his pace quickens, matching your urgency. When your thighs start twitching, his fingers find your clit, tracing tight, focused circles between you.

“Oh, baby—I know you’re close.” His voice is deep, reverent, his eyes locked on yours as he drives you closer to the edge. His movements grow frenzied, determined, his own restraint unraveling as he works to push you over.

“Let go for me,” he gasps, his rhythm breaking as he fights against his own release. “I need all of it.”

His name spills from your lips as you shatter beneath him, the pleasure hitting like a tidal wave. Your hands clutch at his arms, nails leaving half moons in his skin as your body clenches around him, lost to the euphoria he’s dragged you toward all night.

“There she is,” he praises, looking down at you with a mix of awe and need. “That’s my good fucking girl. So good for me.”

But he’s still not done with you yet, milking every bit of your orgasm out of you as he chases his own high. You spasm around him as his thrusts turn rougher, more urgent—grip tightening, breath ragged against your skin. His voice is raw, fraying as he loses control.

“Fuck, baby—squeezing me so tight—” A groan rumbles through his chest as he pounds into you, chasing that final push as you jolt underneath him, still reverberating from your own drawn-out high.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, forehead pressed against yours. “I need to show you how much, baby—need to fill you up—”

He has you nearly has you folded in half from the way he’s drilling into you. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as he thrusts deeper, sharper, his restraint slipping completely. “Take it—fuck, baby, I’m—“

His voice breaks, a strangled moan escaping as he shudders against you, buried deep, pulsating inside you as he gasps your name like a prayer.

He slumps against your legs, breath ragged, chest heaving. His weight presses into you, pinning you beneath him, and when he catches the strain flickering across your face, he shifts—easing out, rolling to the side, and turning toward you.

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he runs his thumb along yours. “You look especially beautiful when you’re wrecked like this.”

You roll your eyes at him lovingly, smiling slightly in your fucked out haze.

His fingers trace your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before rising from the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

With effortless strength, he lifts you, carrying you bridal style before setting you on unsteady feet near the bathroom door. A hand glides down your back, and with a soft pat on your butt, he gently nudges you forward. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, swiping your water bottle on his way out.

Still breathless, you glance at the mirror and stifle a giggle at your reflection—mascara smudged, hair a wild mess.

“You laughing, pretty girl?” His voice rumbles as he steps back in, ice rattling against the sides of your bottle. He’s stripped down to just his black briefs, gaze warm, inviting. “C’mere,” he pats his thigh. “Tell me what’s so funny.”

Your legs tremble as you shuffle his way, and the moment you reach him, he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against his chest like you belong there.

He strokes your hair as his own laughter rumbles underneath you. “Your little stunt was cute, baby. Was all that attitude at the bar worth it?”

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x yn

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madaqueue · 7 months ago

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FOOL'S GOLD SINKS ALL THE SAME

aventurine never fails to cause a scene, in public or in private.

pairing: aventurine x gn!reader

themes/content: reader has a history of sexual trauma (it is not described in graphic detail but it is very clearly alluded to. it is not romanticized or sexualized). smut. mentions of aventurine's past, oral + fingering + penetration (reader receiving), lots of ocean metaphors bc i'm normal abt it. 18+ MDNI (wk: 4.7k)

a/n: letting this blond man ruin my life

“Bet on me.”

The words barely land in your ears as Aventurine snakes his way around the table. You can’t respond, can’t even look at him, without inviting catastrophe, and he knows: he makes it a challenge, of course, reflecting the glimmering lights almost more brightly than the gaudy disco ball twirling away overhead. In the corner of your vision, the black flash of armed guards weighs in your mind, and instead of straining your eyes to catch his, you let your attention fall aimlessly ahead.

Then, you do precisely as you were told: nothing (technically, the IPC’s orders were to “Observe and gather intel” which you know means “Don’t let Aventurine cause a scene.” Perhaps that’s why they’ve sent you on so many jobs together - they need him chained, and you’re an inexpensive stand-in leash. Being a collar doesn’t take much skill, after all).

The game continues, cards and chips moving hands, and Aventurine loses after a stupid play he’d never make, and pouts.

“What a shame,” he says to himself, resting his chin on a glove you know is more expensive than the ruby velvet lining the table. “Dye like this is hard to find,” he once told you. “It’s almost impossible to get anything this dark. Only fools pay for red, but that’s why gamblers love it: it’s cheap and flashy.”

When the next round begins, he taps his fingers along the table, a tell he’d never let slip, one subtle enough not to miss. With barely-controlled eyes darting from player to player, he feigns nervousness and shuffles his chips to the center.

“Guess I’m all in,” he chuckles, letting his smirk waver for half a second.

The fools around you think he’s bluffing; they think they’ve got him. People tend to let their guard down when they think they’ve won, when they can’t see that the finish line has been moved. More chips rattle onto the table - they’d be idiots to not get in on pulling one over on the well-loathed IPC.

Again, you hear ‘bet on me,’ and for some stupid reason, you follow, clearing the space in front of you with a hesitant push of your own wealth (well, the IPC’s, of course) into the ever-growing pile.

On the neighboring stool, a man leans over, letting his scruff tickle the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart. Let that man lose his money, and when I win it back, I’ll spoil you.” He smells like cheap whiskey and cigarettes and you want to claw his throat out.

Across the table, one of the other gamblers lets out a shrill complaint of, “No coaching during the plays!” and the man beside you innocently raises his arms, not before winking at you, and you wonder if you were to kill him on this table how much the velvet would cost to replace.

Instead, you bat your eyelashes and lay your cards down. “Oh well, maybe I’ll win the next one,” you giggle, sending your chips toppling onto the others with one final shove.

The next moves happen rather quickly: Aventurine reveals his hand, people shout, the money is claimed from the table, and somebody grabs your arm. It’s only when cool cloth softly rubs your skin that you recognize the man dragging you towards the exit and let your muscles be pulled behind.

“Told you,” Aventurine whispers, his breath lighter than feathers.

He cashes out silently and guides you towards the elevators, this time with one palm placed on your lower back rather than wrapped around your wrist. Less possessive, you think - less likely to cause a scene.

The moment the elevator doors close, you turn to him.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?” He cocks his head to the side and lets that impish grin spread across his face, the one that’s nearly landed him with knuckles on his jaw in an attempt to wipe it off.

“You know that wasn’t what we were sent here to do.” You cross your arms, and he basks in the heat of your body, his wrists now fully snaked around your waist.

“Details, details,” he murmurs with a wave of his hand. “We got the information we needed. It’s not a crime to have a little fun afterwards.”

“It is a crime to disobey orders-”

Just as your annoyance begins to bubble over, the elevator chimes and opens directly into his suite. To break free from his grasp, your feet step forward and graciously carry you inside.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, light bouncing off the white marble that lines every surface.

Of course Aventurine gets a penthouse for these missions. The IPC certainly has to keep up appearances, and with a man like him, anything else might as well fully blow his cover.

He lets you enter on your own, at least, as he waltzes behind you, with the saccharine smell of pride blooming from his skin.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he hums, and you want to smack that smug smile off his face.

Before you can, he tosses a cloth sack your way, the coins inside clanking with a sound you nearly don’t recognize.

“For you,” he says easily, leaning against the ever-opulent stone counter.

Something in the sound makes your head feel heavy, under pressure like you’re drowning. It’s familiar in a way you hate, in a way that you remember from the mattresses of shitty hotel rooms and men who smell like cigarettes and the way your tears look under the fluorescent lights of an unfamiliar bathroom.

You know what money like this means for them. And worse, you know what it means for you.

It’s just work, you told yourself the first time someone propositioned you to their room. A way to clear the debt, to push you a little closer to an ever-moving goal. It’s just a body, just a hole, just a few minutes. But it’s different when it’s Aventurine’s body, standing three feet away from yours, when the velvet smells like him and is still warm from his palm.

You don’t open it, you don’t want to. You can feel the metal sitting in your stomach, all too heavy. The act isn’t new, you suppose, but you never thought Aventurine would-

It doesn’t matter.

Now you see the point of his plan - involving you in it was sick, but the IPC must keep up appearances. It’s only fitting for them, you suppose.

So, you slowly make your way across the kitchen, sliding the pouch into your coat pocket. You don’t look at him, you can’t, not anymore. Standing mere inches before him, you lower yourself to your knees - they love the ceremony of it, they always do - and rest your hands along his waist. Practiced fingers begin unworking his belt - normally, at this point, you’d turn your gaze to the man above you, but you can’t.

It’s just work. It’s just work. It’s just work.

But something about this, something about it being him, makes your stomach turn, makes you want to vomit up the metal taste that sits in the back of your throat.

Too busy in your mind, you don’t notice the way Aventurine tenses, nor the panic in his hands as he wraps them around your wrists.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out fast, blended into a single breath.

“I’m – I’m doing what you paid me for.”

Finally, you look at him, and see the sheer horror raging behind his eyes. The smooth mask of a practiced liar doesn’t chip easily, but if you listen close enough, you could hear its pieces falling to the cold tiles beneath your knees.

“No. No.” Pulling you from the ground, he doesn’t let go of your shoulders as you rise. “That’s – that’s not what I’m paying you for.”

“Oh.”

Desperately he searches for something in your face, some hint of the rage that burns beneath his skin, but he finds nothing, just glossed-over eyes and a practiced smile. It’s just work, after all - he of all people should know best.

For a moment, he nearly lets his questions get the better of him - What sick fuck is paying you? Is this a part of your contract? Who do I have to kill for making you think you’re nothing more than a body to be used like this? - but easily, he slips the silk mask back on (he wouldn’t want to frighten you with anger; he wouldn’t forgive himself).

“That money is for you. Just you.” Gloved hands smooth the wrinkles along your collar. “It’s the first installment for the debt you owe - in three months, you’ll be rid of the IPC,” (and me, he nearly says), “forever.”

“Aventurine,” you rasp - you aren’t sure why the words get stuck in your throat, now, after all this time. You aren’t sure why they taste so hot - maybe it’s the burning that lingers in your knees. “You can’t.”

“I can. And I did.” The flash of his smile nearly blinds you again. “You can thank me later, but for now, let’s celebrate-”

“No.”

Your eyes sting, and that pit in your chest is back, heavier, threatening to swallow you whole. It aches and makes your head spin and you want to spit it out, let it claw its way from your insides and take your blood and bones and viscera with it.

“The debt was mine to pay off.”

“Well, no offense, but you were doing a pretty terrible job of it,” he laughs, hesitantly. In all his calculated planning, in the hours and days and weeks and months he spent dreaming of this moment, he had a vision of how you’d react, how you’d smile and sigh and wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek and how he’d get to hold you, pick you up like you weighed less than air, free from the chains that kept you down, beneath him.

“It doesn’t matter. It was mine.”

Boiling tears stream down your cheeks, leaving trails of steam in their wake, and you want to collapse into yourself, you want to let the pressure build up until you explode and take out this entire building, this entire planet for all you care.

“You can’t – you can’t just buy people, Aventurine,” you choke, the words landing in the room like smoke.

For the first time, his smile falters. “I wasn’t-”

The coin purse finds its way back into your hand, and then to the ground below his feet. He doesn’t reach out to grab you as you turn away.

You’re grateful that the bar is rather empty, aside from a lone stranger on one end with his head down and an empty bottle beside him, and a couple trying to consume one another in the corner. Most other patrons seem too engrossed in the thrill of throwing their lives away, you suppose; that’s the nature of a casino, the price of feeding its hunger. Empty chairs have become quite a comfort over the years, separating you from those who would grab too tightly, or beg for a kiss, just a kiss, or slide a pile of coins your way and wait for you by the elevators.

And yet, when he approaches from behind you, you don’t flinch (you’d know his steps anywhere, you think - they’re too evenly timed to belong to anyone else).

“Is this seat taken?” he grins, but makes no move to sit until you gesture him forward with a wave of your glass.

The two of you let the silence settle, even though Aventurine feels he may choke on it, even though he wants to speak and speak and speak until you forgive him and tell him it’s alright and tell him he’s not evil, he didn’t hurt you, he didn’t mean to. Instead, he silently orders two drinks and lets you sip yours slowly.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I know you were trying to do something good.”

There are words sitting on the tip of his tongue begging to be let free, but he swallows and lets them burn his throat.

“I didn’t plan to work for the IPC this long. I didn’t plan for any of this, really.” You chuckle, a dry sound, and wash it down with the liquid in your cup. “But my debt just kept growing, and they kept saying they needed me - ‘just one more job,’ - but it’s never really just one more, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” and he lets himself laugh.

The casino’s sounds settle atop you, those of victory and highs and pride left to sit out for too long, until it starts to rot.

“The IPC bought my debt,” he says to the empty bottles behind the bar. “It was a long time ago, longer than you’ve been here, I’m sure. It was selfish of me to try and do the same to you.” (Nobody should be owned like that, he almost says. The mark on his neck aches and itches and pricks at his skin like hot iron. He ignores it.)

His empty glass sits on the table, its wet ring bleeding into the wood. A wiser man would have used a coaster, or perhaps, a poorer man, one who couldn’t afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“The money is still yours, of course. You don’t have to take it, but I have no use for it.” My debt is too grand to be counted and held in velvet, he thinks.

When your gaze meets his, his pupils dilate - one of the few tells he can’t control.

“Well then,” you hum, the ice clinking against the glass as it swirls in your hold, “I suppose I should use my new-found wealth.” Setting your cup upon the table, the condensation makes it slide towards his, and you grin, an unpracticed one, unpolished. Your cheeks pull back unevenly and you let the cracks in your lips show. “Can I buy you a drink?”

He laughs and you wonder if this is the same sound that plays from the slot machines lining the walls, if this is the bell that rings for victory, the one that makes people willing to throw their savings away for the chance to hear it just one more time.

“Well, I’d be a fool to say no.”

He’s lighter now that your forgiveness has settled on him, kissing his cheeks like a butterfly’s wings, in a way that tickles and doesn’t make him brush it off, a way that reminds him of spring and flowers, of his home and of you.

“Do you remember that job we worked on Belobog?”

“The one where I had to pretend to be married to you?” you laugh, nearly falling off the back of the barstool before Aventurine’s hand catches you in the dip of your back.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he whines, letting his lips turn upwards.

“I just never took you for someone so…comfortable in public.” There’s a glimmer of something sparkling behind your eyes, more than just the neon lights flashing overhead.

Leaning forward, he’s so close you can nearly smell him, wood and liquor, smoke and velvet. Rich in all the ways he ought to be, in all the ways he pretends he is.

“I was just selling our cover,” he purrs, and a part of you wonders if this is dangerous, to be letting him in like this, to tilt your head until the heat radiating from his skin gets trapped in the space between you.

“Yeah? I didn’t know you had orders to pull me onto your lap and kiss my neck every second we were around someone else. It was a bit much, don’t you think?”

“A little overkill never hurt anyone,” his eyes narrow and he wants to open his mouth and swallow you. “Besides, you certainly didn’t seem to mind.”

Your face grows warm, but you don’t back down, don’t turn away, not when you hold the winning hand. “I guess I just took you for someone more private, Aventurine.”

“Oh, you have no idea how I am in private.”

“No?” your glass lands heavily along the bar, and he straightens his back as you stand. “Then why don’t you come back to my room and show me?”

And he’s on his feet in the time it takes to blink.

Your room is smaller than his, of course; the two of you nearly fill the hallway, swelling until every inch of it is consumed by your bodies, leaving imprints of your flesh along the walls. It’s not opulent, it's not marble or pillars or gold, but it’s yours, and now, his.

He ushers you inside first, and the moment the door closes, you press into him.

You don’t speak, and neither does he; you don’t have to, not anymore. When your hands trail up his sides, the breath in his throat catches, a beginner’s tell, one he should have outgrown by now, one he knows better than to let slip. The lilting chuckle he lets out, too, tells you all too much.

When your lips meet his, it’s soft at first, all feathers and butterflies. Hesitant and nervous, but yearning.

In a moment, he lets the silk mask slip.

Then, he’s starving. Hands reach around you and grab and beg and hold, trying to tear off pieces of you so he’ll never have to leave this behind. Your teeth sink into his lower lip and he groans into your mouth and you’re grateful for the wood door as you lean every ounce of your weight against him.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you,” he sighs, and his breath melds with yours until you’re exhaling one another, until the only thing you can feel and hear and taste is him.

“I do.” Blown pupils meet yours, decorated with stars and constellations. “You’re easier to read than you think, Aventurine.”

“You just know me too well,” he smiles, and his lips are back on yours, hungry and gnawing.

With needy hands you drag him from the entryway and towards the bed, the only real piece of furniture inside, luckily.

There’s a practiced ease as you fall to your knees once again, and a gentleness to his hands as he lifts you where you stand.

“Allow me,” he hums.

Softly, he kneels before you, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the warmth radiating from your face. He’s a flower planted beneath you, watered with your smile and grown by your fingertips; you can step on him, if you’d like, or leave him here until his petals kiss your ankles and pluck him so he may stay in your heart.

He undoes your belt and he tugs your waistband down, too impatient to let gravity do the work. Your shirt’s buttons prove a similarly fluid task, despite the way your hands shake as you rush to undo his. Jewelry and accessories drop to the floor before they’re kicked away, lost to the depths of cloth and fur. Finally, he removes his gloves, tugging off each finger with polished teeth.

“Lay down for me, would you?” he asks in that sweet, silky voice, the one that tastes like wood and liquor, that you want to pour down your throat and swallow with heaving gulps.

The bedding is cotton and scratchy and you don’t even mind, not when he leans over you and you feel his skin on yours, soft and bare. It’s the first time he touches you, truly touches you, with his hands, no expensive velvet or obligation or orders in the way, just his flesh and desire.

You know how much his time is worth, the mental tally of credits summing in your mind with each passing second, and yet, his fingers trail patiently downward, resting at your ribs, your hips, your thighs; his lips follow, marking a path along your body, a map he can return to when he inevitably gets lost and must be found.

Settling between your legs, he inhales and fills his lungs with you, with the salt and sage that blooms from your pulse points. Expensive, but not gaudy - the IPC certainly knows how to maintain an appearance.

His tongue is quick and deft, and he nearly misses the way you tense. When he searches your face, he finds furrowed eyebrows and a frown that a more foolish man would pass off as pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. How do you respond to a question you’ve never been asked, one you’d never prepared for? “I think so, yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The sound makes you flinch. “No, just…”

What more is there? It’s just work, you’d say; Use me, he’d say.

“Here.” Intertwining his fingers with yours, he lets his palm sink into the crater of your own. “Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

You nod and smile, crooked and sweet, and he sends one back in return. Slowly, the haven of your thighs welcomes him once again.

He’s softer, now, as he savors you, the way your skin lands on his tongue, the way your hips shift into the mattress. When he presses a finger to your entrance, you gasp and nearly grip his hand, but he pauses, he lets you breathe and relax your knees and stomach. When he pushes further in, a moan falls from your lips and he thinks he’d bet his life savings, go in debt a thousand times over just to hear it again. He knows his luck is true when he adds a second finger and he’s graced with it once more.

“Aventurine,” you breathe, your muscles tensing as the heat in your core builds. You worry what your body will do when it finally overtakes you, when the flames kiss your skin half as kindly as him, so you dig your palms into his hair instead. It’s soft, impossibly so, as you knot it around your knuckles; he groans when your nails scratch along his scalp.

He lets you pull him in, swallowing every sound and touch you’ll grant him with an eager throat. You cry his name when you come undone, and he wonders what fate he owes a debt to for the chance to taste you, hear you, feel you like this.

When he finally leans away, the depths of his pupils have drowned the vibrant cyan and violet that normally kiss their shore, and his chest heaves like a man just saved from the sea. He’s damp like one, too, sweat-slicked hair clinging to his neck.

Light catches on his shoulders and he glows, rising above you as though gravity wouldn’t dare touch him. He kisses you again, and he passes along the ocean and salt and stone, a secret message a fool would miss, but one you can read: I crave you.

There’s no nervousness left as you guide his tip to your entrance, no fear or duty or chains, just his hips and devotion.

“Are you sure?”

Your palm interlinks with his once more, and you grin. “Of course.” The soft, warm skin of his neck finds its way between your teeth, letting it rest behind your canines, and he chuckles eagerly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know,” he sighs into you.

“What a wonderful way to die.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him forward. Cool air blesses your spine as your back arches from the bed, more gentle than feathers or a butterfly’s wings, and you welcome him with ease.

He shudders when he bottoms out, cold in spite of the heat emanating from your skin, trapped in the single layer of atoms between your bodies.

A moment passes, then two. And you realize, in the still seconds, that he’s waiting, restraining. A hand held out, an invitation.

Tentatively, your hips circle his, and a golden whine flows from his lips. It drips from the corners and you lap at the fountain of his wealth.

He lets you guide him, then, lets you move and lead and make a show of what you want, what you like. There’s a rhythm he settles into, an angle, a single spot that makes you claw at his back and drink the air from his lungs. And he, an ever-grateful actor, is more than happy to perform.

There’s a control to it, though. A mask.

“Let go,” you whisper into his open mouth.

He chews the words but barely swallows. “What do you mean?”

Your eyelashes flutter open to find him staring down, blinded by the spotlight of your presence; he blinks to clear the flashing. “You’re holding back; let go.”

It’s a miracle you’ve never noticed until this moment, until you’re this close to him, but his grin is a bit uneven, too, the right side of his smile curving ever-so-slightly higher than the left. You wonder how hard he’s had to work to hide it; you wonder what it would take to see it again.

“If you insist.”

His lips crash into yours and you wonder if this is what drowning feels like, to have something in your lungs and your stomach and on your skin and dragging you into it; you wonder if the sea has ever felt this greedy.

Each swell of his pelvis is another wave, crests with no rhythm, an unpredictable high and low. Boats have been lost to less; perhaps they would have been saved if only they’d had his hands waiting to catch them. His, meanwhile, dig into your waist, holding you just under the surface.

Moans blend into each other, and he hits so deep inside you that a cough to dispel the water lodged inside would surely have his name in it, not that you’d ever want to; you want him in every part of you, seeping into the cracks and living there, forever. You inhale and inhale and inhale, until you can’t tell the difference between him and air, until he’s the thing keeping you alive.

The bed shakes, its cheap wood headboard bouncing against the chipping paint of your shitty hotel room, leaving behind damage that you’ll surely have to pay. But how lucky you are to be with a man who can afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“I-” he starts, but you already know what he’s about to say (he’s not that hard to read, after all - not when his entire body begins to shake, when his whines strain higher, when he lets his smile fall crooked).

“Don’t stop,” is all you have to say; not that he could, with the way your legs wrap around him; not that he would, with the way you bloom and writhe and swell beneath him.

When he comes undone, it’s accompanied by the most beautiful sound, the most beautiful flush of his cheeks and arch of his back.

And yet, all he hears is you as you hold him, as you follow him under and kiss him through the brine, as you clench around his length and let him twitch and shake and tremble.

It takes a moment for him to still inside you (the sea is never quiet right after a storm). When he does, his eyes search for yours immediately. When they don’t find a smile, he begins to panic - Did he hurt you? Are you scared? Will you hate him? - but in an instant, they crinkle at the corners.

“Well,” you say, breathless.

“Well?” he mirrors, trying to hide the water that still rests in his chest.

“I have to be honest with you,” you hum pensively, letting the practiced control slip back into your voice, letting him worry for half a moment before you continue, “I can now say with confidence, you are exactly the same in private.”

His face stalls for a moment, and then he laughs, and you’ve found a new currency, one you’d happily be indebted in for the rest of your life. “So I take it you’d want to do this again sometime? In spite of the overkill?”

Your grin widens at the corners, uneven and shining. “I’d be a fool not to.”

#posts abt blond man . runs away #i don’t even know if this makes sense but … i love him so much #q writes #oneshot #aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine hsr #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr smut #aventurine smut

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mysteryshoptls · 10 months ago

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SSR Ace Trappola - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

When Summoned: Yaaaawn, sooo sleepy... But it's a waste to keep sleeping! I think I'll roll around in bed some more.

Summon Line: Since it's my birthday, that means I can pretty much get away with askin' for whatever I want, right? Wonder what I should get my roommates to do for me...

Groooovy!!: No way, I overslept!? No way I can hit up the school with bedhead on my birthday of all days!

Home: Whew, now I'm feelin' fresh～

Swap Looks: Guess I'ma go wash m'face...

Home Idle 1: I couldn't find the shirt I was gonna wear tomorrow, but it ended up being mixed in with my roommate's stuff. Annoyin' how that happens sometimes.

Home Idle 2: Ruggie-senpai forced some vegetable seeds into my hands. He said I better share some with him when I harvest 'em... Would this even grow that much?

Home Idle 3: You wanna know about this hoodie? I bought it at a clothing shop in Foothill Town. It's pretty comfy, and also perfect to wear as loungewear, don'tcha think?

Home Idle - Login: Don't birthday mornings just feel special? I'm so jazzed I even get really into doin' up my hair!

Home Idle - Groovy: Kalim-senpai threw me a huge party as a celebration even though I'm not in Scarabia... Maaan, he's always so insanely nice!

Home Tap 1: Sometimes I'll play darts or card games with my roommates. 'Though, there's one loud-mouthed, thick-headed idiot that's always gettin' in the way!

Home Tap 2:I can't even imagine what kind of present Malleus-senpai could pick for me～ I guess I got nothing to lose by asking him... Nah, never mind.

Home Tap 3: I got softer hair, so I get bedhead super easily. Man, I've been late so many times 'cause of it!

Home Tap 4: I was messin' with Sebek, pushing his buttons and sayin' he probably sucks at gift-giving, when he shouted, "I'll show you what I can really do!" Ahaha, oh, I totally can't wait to see what he comes up with～

Home Tap 5: Eh, my hair's sticking out in the back!? Ugh, seriously? I thought I fixed it up. Guess I'll hafta fix it up in a flash during break.

Home Tap - Groovy: You like my taste in loungewear? I knew you'd get me. And see, I even picked these sandals in the same color to give it an overall coordinated look!

Duo: [ACE]: Can't wait to see how you'll celebrate with me, Kalim-senpai! [KALIM]: Let's dance, sing, and party hard, Ace!

Birthday Login Message: Oh hey, did you come to celebrate my birthday? Nice timing, we just finished morning basketball practice! My clubmates all wished me a happy birthday, too. Jamil-senpai said it as soon as he saw me, and by some miracle, Floyd-senpai gave me a very normal birthday greeting. I'm sure glad he was in a good mood～ Oh, hey. We should hit the Mystery Shop between classes. ...Hm? Why're you tensin' up? Huuuh? C'mon, I didn't say nothing about treating me, now diiid I? Hehe, see you later～

Requested by @thelonepearl.

#twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #kalim al-asim #twst ace #twst kalim #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: ruggie #mention: kalim #mention: deuce #mention: malleus #mention: sebek #mention: jamil #mention: floyd

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voidbellamy · 2 months ago

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Here Comes Trouble

Kaz Brekker’s girl is more trouble than she’s worth. But maybe not to him…

summary: absolutely no warnings except kaz brekker himself. kaz is slightly whipped and keeps his girl out of trouble, but also maybe doesn’t do much to stop her to begin with, gang boss, club owner kaz spoiling and being protective of his girl 😵‍💫

She had cheated slightly in a game of cards.

Jesper swore that he had definitely been watching her and only looked away for a second.

Kaz eyed her as she came strutting into the Crow Club, looking slightly out of breath and extremely pleased with herself. She spun around to look over her shoulder once more, before pulling an impressive fold of Kruge out of her pocket. Kaz let out an exasperated sigh and Jesper looked to him with an amused smirk. Jesper noted silently how she never got in any trouble with Kaz, but if Jesper spent even one too many Kruge he was sure to get a lecture and a nasty threat. Kaz twitched his lip up in slight irritation to Jesper’s smirk, before pushing past him with his ungraceful limp, walking slightly faster than he normally would.

Kaz grabbed her by the arm and guided her kruge-filled hand back into her pocket, quickly. “Having fun, are you?” He ignored the smug smile on her face, tightening his grip on her wrist slightly so she didn’t flash the bills around again. She shrugged innocently, “They were stupid and easy.” Kaz exhaled again, gloved hand running down his nose. Saints. “Yes, well. I wish I couldsay the same about you.” Her smirk only grew as she looked him up and down. “Who do I have to pay off now?” She smirked again as she pulled out her falsely won money, “No one, darling.”

Kaz narrowed his eyes slightly at her tone, watching her pass each bill between hands as she counted it, “They didn’t even notice that I cheated.” Kaz took the money from her again, this time shoving it deep into his own pocket. She looked at him with a pout andKaz only slightly rolled his eyes. “You can have it back later.” He felt slightly like a parent disciplining their child, but this was usually only directed towards Jesper. “Fine.” She crossed her arms slightly before pulling out a small bag of coins and dropping it into his pocket. She bit her lip lightly, the same smirk that usually got her out of trouble on her lips, “Buy yourself something pretty.” She winked and Kaz stared at her blankly.

“And where did this come from?”

“You used to think my sticky fingers and questionable morals were charming.”

Kaz smirked slightly, “That was before it started costing me more to keep you out trouble, than it does for me to keep this place running.” She shrugged innocently, “You could choose not to keep me around, you know. But, I’m almost always careful. And besides, no one is going to mess with me after they find out who my big, scary boyfriend is.” Kaz quirked an eyebrow up slightly as she tugged on both sides of his lapel, smirking slightly. He gave her a doubtful look, but really she wasn’t completely wrong… “Maybe now people let you get away with things, because of me, but Ketterdam is still dangerous and if you cheat the wrong people, money won’t get you out of being killed.” She brushed her dress off slightly, lips puckered slightly in thought. Kaz watched her, never knowing if his warnings got to her, or if she would ever take them seriously. She had always been smart about who she played, and just how much she could get away with taking. But she also got bored easily, and may someday see just how far she could push her luck- and Kaz’s status.

When she finally looked up, evidently done with her thinking, she smirked. Kaz held his breath as she pulled him just slightly closer, glancing around to see that no one was looking and no one could see the heat rising in his cheeks. “Well if that were ever the case,” He inhaled sharply as she traced her hands along his hips and to his back, “Dirtyhands would come out to play.” Kaz smirked at this, knowing, once again, she wasn’t wrong. “Dirtyhands is supposed to be retired.” A calmer life with steady income, or something like that. She raised her eyebrow just slightly, thinking back to two weeks ago when Dirtyhands, had in fact, beat someone with a brick for looking at her the wrong way. Kaz clocked the look on her face immediately and his lip twitched slightly, “Only for you does he come out to play.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #six of crows #ketterdam #shadow and bone #jesper fahey #oneshot #kaz brekker one shot #dirtyhands #bastard of the barrel #voidbellamyfics

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cheolieji · 1 month ago

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birthday girl - lee seokmin

where your boyfriend forgets your birthday? (or not)

wc: 1,244

pairing: bf!dokyeom x fem!reader

genre: fluff, a little angst (they both cry)that's all

Scarlet's Masterlist🩷

guide for requesting on my page [17] pls check before sending an ask

A/N: wrote a special birthday fic cause its my birthday!! and I realised I've never wrote for my man that I've been biasing for 5 years lol

+ my family lowkey forgot about my birthday too so yeahh...

you wake up on your birthday with a flutter of excitement, the kind that buzzes low in your chest as sunlight warms your skin through the curtains. You stretch, glance at the time, and wait. Maybe he’ll barge in singing with a tray of breakfast, or maybe he’s out grabbing something extravagant and ridiculous, like balloons and a singing card.

But the morning passes. Then the afternoon. And nothing.

Dokyeom acts like it’s just a normal day. He hums around the apartment, throws on a hoodie, kisses your cheek like he always does—but there's no sparkle in his eyes, no cheeky grin, no suspicious behavior.

You try to brush it off. Maybe he’s planning something for later. He’s done surprises before.

But when dinner rolls around and he’s just curled up on the couch with a bowl of ramen, watching TV like it’s any other night, your heart starts to ache a little. You hover awkwardly, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he just glances over and pats the seat next to him.

“You good?” he asks, casual and oblivious.

You nod, sit down beside him, and try not to let the silence between you feel so loud.

You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until he disappears into the shower. And that’s when you see it: a gift bag poking out from behind the couch, not even fully hidden. You grab it carefully and read the tag.

To my love. Happy birthday. You didn’t really think I’d forget, right?

Your mouth drops open. So this was a prank.

You stare at the bag for a long moment, then slowly put it back in its spot, tucking it just a little deeper this time. If he wants to play games, then fine. You’re going to take it further.

By the time he comes out, towel over his shoulders and hair still damp, you’re curled up on the couch, small and quiet. Your arms are wrapped around your knees, and your head is down just enough to hide your expression. He doesn’t notice right away. He starts talking about how long the hot water lasted today.

Then he sees uou.

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You don’t answer. Just a soft, slow sniffle.

He freezes. “Wait… are you crying?”

You lift your hand to your cheek and wipe at nothing, but the movement is enough. He’s kneeling in front of you in a flash, voice full of panic.

“Baby. Baby, no. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

You barely shake your head, lips trembling, keeping your eyes just out of his reach.

“Oh my God,” he whispers, gently reaching up to cradle your face. “Please look at me.”

You glance up slowly. He inhales sharply when he sees your watery eyes, your trembling lip. His thumbs brush under your eyes, panic rising in his expression.

“Is this because I didn’t say anything today?” His voice cracks. “Oh no. Baby, no. I’m so stupid. It was a prank, I thought you’d laugh—”

You let a tear fall.

He gasps, like the sight physically hurts him. “No no no, please don’t cry. I didn’t think—I didn’t mean to actually make you sad. I just wanted to mess with you a little and then surprise you. I have everything planned, the gift, the dinner—”

He stops himself, his breath catching.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you so much. You didn’t deserve that. I just wanted to see your face when I gave it to you but now you’re crying and—and now I’m—”

His words choke off and he presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight like he’s trying to hold everything in. You feel the warmth of his breath, shaky and uneven.

Then you feel a tear drop onto your hand.

He’s crying.

“God, I hate this,” he mutters, voice thick. “I didn’t mean to break your heart. You mean everything to me. I thought you’d smile. I didn’t think I’d mess it up this badly. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t think I forgot on purpose.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close, hugging you like you might slip away if he lets go. His cheek presses against yiur shoulder, and he sniffles hard.

“I love you,” he whispers again. “I love you so much. I’d never forget your birthday. I’d never forget you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, holding it in for just a second longer. Then—

You burst out laughing.

At first it’s a giggle, then a full-on belly laugh, loud and unapologetic. You pull back slightly to see his face twist in pure confusion and betrayal.

“Wait… what?”

You wipe your eyes, still laughing. “You should’ve seen yourself. You were sobbing.”

“You were crying,” he accuses, completely flustered. “You were shaking.”

You shrug with a grin. “Acting.”

He just stares at you, mouth open. “You played me. You played me.”

You reach behind the couch and pull out the gift bag, wiggling it with a smirk. “Next time, hide your evidence better.”

He flops onto your lap dramatically, groaning. “Unbelievable. I was about to write you a poem and cry into a cake.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, still grinning. “And now you’ll think twice before pulling that kind of prank.”

He lifts his head to glare at you, but it softens into a pout almost immediately. “I’m still taking you out. I had plans. There was a candle and everything.”

You kiss the top of his head. “Then you better go get that candle.”

He huffs. “Only if you promise not to fake cry at the restaurant.”

“No promises.”

He sighs and wraps his arms tighter around you.

“Happy birthday, my love" he mumbles.

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animeshotsh · 1 year ago

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Chains | Husk x SisOverlord!Reader / Yandere!Alastor x Reader |

Summary: Its been years since you saw your brother...

No one expected the doors of the Hotel to burst Open that afternoon. Vaggie was the first to react, being ready to fight whever decided to attack that day (it was becoming something normal).

Charlie on her part was jumping towards the stranger, ready to shake hands and introduce herself.

"Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, im Charlie, whats your na-" Before Charlie could finish two voices sounded in the back.

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) MY DEAR!!"

Husk and Alastor voices echoed in the looby, the only response their got were a set of flashing sharp poker cards being directed at the radio Demon and Husk.

"ITS HAS BEEN 12 YEARS AND THATS ALL YOU GONNA SAY?" You screamed at both men.

Husk looked away, shame over his cat face. Long time ago you two used to rule. The brother and sister duo, the ones who could destroy everyone. That was till Husk destroyed himself, giving his soul to the radio Demon. Leaving you behind.

Alastor was amused by your anger. He knew you hated him, he was the one who took your brothers soul after all. And he never felt remorse because of it, he was almost happy he did it. It was the only way he got to see you, ever if you only showed him hate.

He would take whatever from you.

"Wait...are you Husk's gilfriend?" Charlie still not catching up asked, getting the most bizarre look from you.

"Hell no, im his sister" You responded making the princess blush and apologie too much. "Its fine, I know he does not talk a lot about me"

Charlie could hear the sadness in your voice. She took a moment to see you, and now she saw how similar Husk and you were. Cat face a pair of wings, the colors were different and so were your eyes, but there was something that just connected you two.

"This is (Y/N), The Casino Demon, you bet against her and you lose your Soul" Alastor explained appearing besides you. "She and Husk used to rule together"

"Yeah, well thats in the past now" You responded to Alastor both of you killing each other with your eyes.

The tension was broken by Husk, "why are you here?"

"Im here because you are here and because I want to redeem myself" You responded with your head high, not looking at the obvious smirk from Alastor or the questioning look from Husk.

Charlie quickly took your hand, guiding you towards a desk to check you in, she ramble about the hotel, the guests and things they did in here.

You kind of feel bad for her, you could see her passion but the only reason you were in here was because of Husk. Ever since Alastor took his soul it ended being a game of finding him. Alastor would make Husk's soul appear and since you two were connected as brother and sister you would fly there only to find him gone and a smirking Radio Demon.

But this time, his soul had been in one place for a long time. So you decided to use this chance to be by your brothers side.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Later that same night you went to the bar, Husk tried to ignore you, cleaning glasses but ended facing you. No one dared to speak first, silent tears fell from your eyes, slowly your hands reached his, his fluffy hair welcoming you.

"I have missed you so much" You said smiling at him. Husk felt his heart break, he knew how Alastor played with you using him. He had tried many times to make you hate him, but you never did. You also never fought Alastor knowing he would use Husk to get you.

"Lets have a drink for the old days"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

After many drinks you went back to your room. So many years apart...Husk and you had so much to catch on.

"You know you cant have him back"

The radio Demon appear behind you, you ignored him not wanting to fall for his games.

"Not without a deal at least"

"And what would that deal be?" You asked not looking back at the Demon.

In a flash he got closer to you, not touching you but you could feel his breath down your neck.

"Your soul for his, be mine for the eternity and free him" Hell, you could feel the psycho smile and listen the radio laughts.

"Goodnight Alastor"

You left him alone outside your room. Alastor smiled to himself, hands behind his back he started to walk to his own room.

"Just a bit more" he whispered his body turning to his full Demon form.

"Just a bit more to be mine"

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #husk x reader

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iloveb3aches · 3 months ago

Note

omg girl i got this rlly cutee bra but like my tits literally SPILL out of it and i was thinking like what if you wrote about smth like this with hamzah? ^w^

omg, yes, I love this 🙏🙏🙏

"Unspoken Moments"

Hamzah x f!reader

Warnings/tags - honestly none unless your uncomfy with tits being brought up, quick little story, tension, fluff, cleaning up after hanging with friends

A/N -

✩ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬😪

You and Mandy were in Victoria's Secret

You don't normally buy your bras at Victoria's Secret, mainly because they're expensive, and every time you think you've bought the correct size, it's either too big or too small. But they were having a sale, and she offered to pay for you, so how could you turn that down?

You found a cute pink lacy bra, you were going to try it on, but Mandy was in a rush, so you just checked if it was your size and paid for it.

You got home and finally tried that said bra on, but to no surprise, it was too small, and almost everything was spilling out. You were still going to wear even if you're one jump away from flashing everybody, you would just have to be careful.

One week later

You, Martin, Mandy, and Hamzah just got done hanging out in your house. You guys drank, played card games, and just talked, but eventually everyone had to head home.

“Bye y/n, we're going to head home now!” Mandy says leaving with Martin. “Okay, bye, I'll see you soon,” you say, picking up the trash that had been left over from that hangout. You stand up to pull up your shirt. You decided that wearing that bra wouldn't be a problem because you weren't going to do so much except sit down.

“Hamzah, you heading home too?” you question. He glances up from his phone and over at you. “Yeah, I was just-” He pauses, sees the bag. “Do you want help cleaning up?”

You start to shake your head. “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he says, cutting you off smoothly, already standing up. “I want to. I don’t have much else to do anyway.”

You reach over the couch, grabbing all the bags of chips and the cans that were lying on the couch. In doing so, your shirt got pulled down a bit, and that bra that you thought wouldn't be a problem was, in fact, a problem. Cute, yes. Supportive? Not even a little.

He doesn't say anything, he walks over to the sink to put a bowl away, and sees you for a split second. He tries to act like he didn't see anything, like nothing happened at all, but you weren't convinced. You look up and catch him staring at you as he quickly shifts his eyes to the floor.

But he did see you and every so often, just for a second, when you turned or bent over, his eyes flicked down

You look back up at him and you squint your eyes slightly, looking at him suspiciously. “You good?”

“Hm?” he says, too quickly. Then clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, just tired.”

“Righttt.” you say, dragging the word out, not convinced at all.

The air’s different now. Not tense in a bad way, just heavy. Like there’s something in the room neither of you wants to name.

Eventually, you two get done cleaning and are now just standing against the counter, just talking. You leans over the counter to grab a cookie that was left on your plate which of course frustratly causes your tits to spill out again. He goes still for half a breath. His eyes flick down, then away again. His jaw tightens, like he’s trying to hold in a thought. He cuts you off mid-sentence “You know that shirt doesn’t hide anything, right?”

You blink and stare at him, confused. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“The one you’re wearing, that top?” You still stare at him in confusion when you all of a sudden realize and look down to see that your boobs have basically fallen out. “Oh my god- how long were you gonna wait to say something?” you say frantically pulling up your top.

“I mean I wasn’t gonna be like, ‘Hey, your boobs are out.’ that sounds weird” He says in a slightly panic but sarcastic state “They do look nice though” he mutters under his breath

“...What was that?” you say, questioning him “Nothing.” he rubs the back of his neck, trying to save himself

But you definitely heard it, he knows you heard it.

#hamzah fic #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #fluff #one shot #hamzah imagines #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah fluff

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u6is · 5 months ago

Text

good on your knees

summary: you knew it was wrong, that this wasn't the time or place, but the desire was undeniable.

warning/s: blowjob, public sex (locker room)

—kylian mbappé x reader: smut

Kylian was a force to be reckoned with on the pitch. His swift movements and fiery spirit had earned him a reputation as one of the best players.

But today, something was off.

The tension was palpable. His eyes darted around, searching for an opportunity to score. Each pass, each dodge, each shot, was met with a wall of defenders. The frustration grew within him like a storm approaching the shore.

Suddenly, a heated exchange between Kylian and an opposing player turned physical. The referee blew the whistle, and the stadium erupted in a mix of boos and gasps. You felt your heart sink as Kylian was shown a yellow card.

Kylian knew the stakes were high; a red card could mean disqualification. As he jogged back to his position, his face was a mask of anger, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight.

The tension didn't ease even when the game resumed. Kylian's frustration grew with each failed attempt to break through the enemy's defense. His teammates looked worried, throwing glances his way as they passed the ball around, trying to keep the peace. The crowd's chanting grew more intense, the pressure in the air thickening. You could see the sweat glistening on Kylian's brow as he took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.

Another chance came, a beautifully curved pass landing perfectly at Kylian's feet. He saw the opening and took it, sprinting towards the goal. The opposing team's captain stepped in front of him, a challenge in his eyes. Kylian feinted left, then right, the captain biting at air. But as he made his final move, a crunching tackle sent Kylian to the ground. The crowd roared, but the referee remained silent.

No foul called.

Kylian's anger boiled over, and he shoved the captain back to his feet, sparking a shoving match between the two. Teammates rushed to separate them, but the damage was done.

The referee, now with no choice, flashed the red card in Kylian's direction.

The crowd's collective gasp was a knife to your heart as your boyfriend stood there, disbelief etched on his face, surrounded by a sea of blue, white, and red jerseys.

The reality of the situation set in as Kylian walked off the field, his head bowed in defeat. The opposing team's supporters jeered, their voices a cacophony of victory and spite.

You watched him from the stands, willing him to look up, to find you in the sea of faces.

He didn't.

Instead, he disappeared into the tunnel.

You knew Kylian well enough to recognize the rare sight of his unbridled anger. Normally, he was the epitome of calmness and control, his focus unshakeable even under immense pressure.

But this rivalry had a history that went beyond the game.

The opposing team had always had a knack for getting under his skin, pushing his buttons in a way that no other team could. It was as if they had a vendetta against him, playing dirty and pushing the limits of the rules with every encounter.

In the locker room, Kylian sat slumped on the bench, his eyes never leaving the floor. One of the team's veteran staff members approached him with a look of both concern and firmness.

“Kylian, you know better than to let them get to you like that,” he said, his voice a mix of disappointment and understanding.

“You're the leader out there. Your teammates need you to keep your head.”

Kylian's response was a muffled growl of frustration. He knew he had let everyone down.

His team, his fans, and most of all, you.

The weight of his mistake pressed on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. He had never been one to back down from a challenge, but today, he had let his emotions take over, and it had cost them dearly.

The door to the locker room swung open, and the cacophony of the match outside rushed in. The coaching staff filed out, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the flickering light of the TV broadcasting the game.

The sounds of the game echoed in the room. The commentators' excited chatter, and the roar of the crowd, each one a painful reminder of where he should have been.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do.

As you stepped inside, the cool air of the locker room contrasted with the heat of the situation.

You had never seen Kylian like this, so lost in anger.

Quietly, you approached him, the smell of his sweat and the faint scent of his cologne filling the space around him. He looked up as the door closed behind you. Your hand tentatively reaching for his shoulder. His muscles were taut under your touch, but he didn't flinch away.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely audible over the distant cheers.

Kylian looked at you, his eyes a tempest of emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"I lost control out there." He replied gruffly.

"I know how much this game means to you, but it's not the end of the world." Your words were soothing, but the gravity of the situation wasn't lost on you. The potential repercussions of his actions could be severe.

"What's going on with you and their captain?"

Kylian's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he spoke through gritted teeth. "It's nothing. Just a bunch of trash talk that got out of hand."

You knew there was more to it, but now wasn't the time to push. Instead, you slid onto the bench beside him, your hand resting gently on his back.

"You can't let them do this to you," you said softly.

"You're better than that."

Kylian took a moment before finally speaking, his voice heavy with regret.

"They know how to get under my skin, especially him. Every time we play, it's like he's there just to provoke me."

"But you're the better player," you assured him, squeezing his shoulder.

"You can't let personal vendetta affect your game."

Kylian's gaze drifted back to the TV, watching the match continue without him.

"I know," he murmured.

"It's just... it's personal."

You felt the tension in his shoulders, the heat of his frustration.

"I understand," you said, stroking his head gently.

Silence filled the room, punctuated only by the sounds of the match on the TV. The players' movements on the screen were a blur as you focused on Kylian's face, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with a silent fury.

Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles like a tightly wound spring. His eyes remained glued to the television, his mind replaying the moments that led to his red card.

Back on the pitch, when Kylian was arguing with the referee's decision, the look on his face sent a shiver down your spine.

You had never seen him like this, his features twisted in such raw, unbridled anger. The fiery determination that usually made him unstoppable had morphed into something darker, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

It was strange, but as you looked at him, the tension in the locker room seemed to coil around you, wrapping you in an electrifying embrace. His eyes, usually so bright and playful, were now storm clouds threatening to break.

And against all reason, it turned you on.

The power, the passion, the pure, unfiltered emotion radiating from him was intoxicating. The intensity of his emotions was like a magnetic force pulling you closer.

You knew it was wrong, that this wasn't the time or place, but the desire was undeniable.

Without thinking, you got on your knees. The cold, hard floor bit into your skin, but you ignored it.

Kylian's reaction was not surprise. He had seen this look on the private walls of his bedroom before, how good you are for him every time he's beat.

You reached out, took his hand in yours, and brought it to your lips, kissing his knuckles gently. His hand was warm and calloused from hours of training, the scent of grass and sweat clinging to his skin. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with lust and understanding.

"You drive me crazy."

With a soft sigh, you pulled your hair to one side, the strands cascading over your shoulder, out of the way. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. You knew that Kylian needed this, a moment of tenderness to break through the wall of anger he had built around himself.

Gently, you reached up and began to pull down his jersey short, exposing the taut muscles of his thigh. The fabric peeled away revealing the stark contrast of his white underwear against his tanned skin.

Kylian's eyes never left yours.

The sound of the TV faded away as you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath as your mouth grazed his thigh.

Your hot breath teased the tip.

You took his cock into your hands and spit into the tip. It was already half-hard from the adrenaline of the match, and the sight of it made you wet.

You took his cock into your mouth, the taste of him mixing with the scent of the locker room a potent cocktail of sweat, musk, and desire. Your lips parted to accommodate his growing girth.

Kylian's body tensed, his eyes closing as he let out a soft groan. You knew he needed this release, to purge the anger and disappointment from his system.

Your lips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his shaft. The noises from the TV became background noise, the only sounds in the room the heavy breaths escaping his lips and the wet, rhythmic suction of your mouth.

Kylian's hands found their way into your hair, gripping it gently at first, then more firmly as the pleasure grew. He was lost in the sensation, his eyes tightly shut, his body reacting instinctively to your touch. You could feel his tension draining away, the tightness in his muscles slowly loosening as he succumbed to the sensation.

With a grunt, he grabbed the hem of his jersey, pulling it up and over his head, revealing his muscular torso glistening with sweat that heaved with excitement.

The fabric clung to him briefly before he tossed it aside, the smell of his sweat and the heat of his body filling the space around you.

You didn't care who might walk in. This was your moment to help him, to give him the release he needed.

You took him deeper into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip, feeling his pulse quicken with every stroke.

His grip on your hair tightened, guiding you slightly, but you set the pace, eager to show him how much you were there for him, how much you understood.

The taste of him grew stronger, his scent more intoxicating, and you felt your desire building. Your throat constricting around his hardness.

"Juste comme ça..." (Just like that) He grunted. His voice was gruff and needy.

"Take it all."

Kylian's breathing grew ragged, his hips starting to rock slightly in time with your movements.

He knew time was of the essence; the match was approaching its climax, and you had to be quick.

As you looked up to him, you saw that he was watching the game, the TV screen reflecting in his eyes.

You could feel his urgency as his grip on your head grew more insistent, his hips starting to lift slightly to meet your eager mouth.

You took the cue, increasing the tempo of your movements, your cheeks hollowing as you took him deeper. Kylian's eyes never left the TV, his eyes flicking between the screen and you, his breathing growing more ragged with every passing second. You could feel his body tensing, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.

"Come on, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and gruff.

"We don't want them to see you choking on my cock, right?" The challenge in his tone spurred you on, and you took him even deeper, pushing past the point of comfort to show him how much you were willing to take for his pleasure.

His growls grew louder, and his moans grew more desperate, each one sending a thrill of power through your body making you want to push him closer to the edge. You felt your arousal climbing, your clit pulsing in time with your sucks and licks.

You felt his thighs tense up around your shoulders as you took him all in, your nose pressing against the fabric of his underwear. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts now, his eyes flicking between the TV and your head. You could sense the storm inside him, the tumult of emotions threatening to break free.

With a final, desperate groan, Kylian's body arched, and he came, his cock pulsing in your mouth as you swallowed every drop of his release.

He leaned back against the locker, his chest heaving, his full lips are slightly parted, still swollen from the way he had murmured your name, and his eyes still locked on yours, his long lashes flutter as he blinks up at you, dark eyes glazed with the remnants of pleasure.

My God, he is beautiful.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of you, the rest of the world fading away into the background noise of the match outside.

But reality came crashing back as you both heard the distant sound of cheers growing louder, his teammates' victory chants echoing down the corridor. You jumped to your feet, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and began to straighten your clothes.

Kylian's eyes widened, snapping back to the present as he realized what was happening.

"Putain," he murmured, his voice still thick with passion.

You giggled, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips despite the urgency of the situation. Quickly, you helped him tuck his cock back into his shorts. Your fingers were trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, and you could feel the heat between your legs, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Your arousal had soaked through, creating a warm, slick spot that you could feel spreading.

Your own desire still unfulfilled.

The cheers grew louder, and you knew his teammates were approaching the locker room. The victory was theirs, but it was a bittersweet victory, marred by Kylian's dismissal.

"I've got to go," You said, and he stood, his legs unsteady for a moment before he found his balance.

Before you could even take a step towards the door, his teammates began to filter in, their faces a mix of triumph and concern. They greeted you with forced smiles and claps on the back, trying to keep the mood light despite the shadow of Kylian's dismissal hanging over the room.

"Good game." One of them said, his eyes flicking over to Kylian, who was still trying to compose himself. You nodded, your cheeks flushing slightly from the encounter, hoping the scent of sex didn't linger in the air.

i was rooting for the other fic, but since you guys voted for this one, here you go opppss 🧎‍♀️

tnx for engaging w me 💗 im rlly enjoying the comments. appreciate it mwapp

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe fanfic

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zerocoded · 1 month ago

Text

summary: what is like to date gamer!heeseung while being a college student.

authors note: so yeah, they have one of the best discographys on kpop in my opinion and have the most lethal face card as well. what am i gonna do about it? WRITE! bc hell yeah i think about them regularly. heeseung is a baddie too, so what i'm daydreaming about having a normal dating life with my idol boyfie?

banner creds: designenha on x, you carry this fandom on your back, ma'am.

warnings and tags: sfw content • pure fluff • heeseung x reader • heeseung calls us baby • this is loser and hot hee all the way • slice-of-life! • not much planned • gamer!heeseung x collegestudent!reader.

word count: 0.9k

the dorm is quiet when heeseung opens the door, hoodie half-zipped and hair pushed back like he’s been running his hands through it all day. he smiles as soon as he sees you, that lazy, boyish grin that always makes your chest ache a little.

“you’re late,” he says, stepping aside so you can come in. “i almost died of boredom.”

“you were playing league five minutes ago,” you say, slipping off your shoes. “don’t act like you were suffering.”

he squints at you as you walk past him. “babe… you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“you’re literally still in the discord call.” you point at the headset hanging from his chair. “i heard someone yell mid diff when i knocked.”

he groans and grabs a pillow off the couch, tossing it at you as you giggle and duck. “rude. i was gonna give you a kiss but now i’m reconsidering.”

“liar,” you grin, flopping down onto the couch and patting the seat beside you. “you’re obsessed with me.”

he drops down next to you with a dramatic sigh, pulling a blanket over both of your laps. “...okay, maybe a little.”

“a little?” you gasp, putting a hand over your chest. “wow. i’m hurt.”

heeseung laughs, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek. “don’t be dramatic, baby.”

you make a face. “says the one who just fake-died over me being five minutes late.”

“i missed you,” he insists, lips brushing your jaw now. “it’s not a crime.”

you roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, fingers reaching to play with the strings of his hoodie. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

heeseung beams like you handed him a trophy. “i know.”

you both settle in, the tv humming softly in the background as the game loads up. his dorm is warm and dimly lit, one small lamp by the desk casting everything in gold. your knees bump under the blanket, and his foot hooks around your ankle like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep touching you.

“ready to lose?” you ask, picking up your controller and flashing him a smug look.

heeseung scoffs. “baby, you only win when i’m distracted by how pretty you are.”

you blink. “wow. you’re pulling the ‘i let you win’ card and flirting? impressive.”

he leans closer with a mock-serious expression. “that’s what you signed up for when you agreed to date me.”

“hmm.” you pretend to consider it. “can i return you?”

he gasps, clutching his chest like you just shot him. “betrayal.”

you’re laughing when the match starts, and heeseung is already leaning toward you again, lips brushing the corner of your smile. “you’re gonna pay for that, baby.”

“bring it on.”

dating lee heeseung consisted in being impressed how that weird boy is a sensation on stage and shy in his bedroom.

like how he can walk out of an arena to thousands of fans screaming his name, drenched in sweat and confidence, only to come home and nervously ask if you want to split a convenience store sandwich with him in bed.

“it’s the last one,” heeseung mumbles now, holding up the sad triangle-shaped snack with a tiny frown. “i mean, i can go get another if you’re really hungry, baby.”

you blink at him from your spot against the headboard, wearing one of his oversized tees and holding his plushie hostage in your arms. “heeseung, just split it. we’re not rich in time or kimbap.”

he smiles like he’s just been forgiven for something serious. “you’re so good to me.”

“you’re dramatic.”

“you’re hot.”

you throw a pillow at his chest.

he splits the sandwich.

after that, it’s back to your usual rhythm — a half-played game on the screen, your laptop open with tabs of school assignments blinking at you, and heeseung’s head slowly drooping onto your lap as if your thighs are the only pillows left in the world.

you thread your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, scrolling through your notes. he hums in approval.

“you’re not asleep, are you?” you ask.

“no,” he mutters into your hoodie. “just charging. like… emotionally.”

you glance down. “you’re emotionally charging… on my thighs?”

“yeah,” he sighs. “they’re warm. and you smell nice. and also, i’m obsessed with you.”

you pretend to be unfazed, but your ears warm up anyway. “you always get weirdly clingy when you’re tired.”

heeseung turns his face just enough to peer up at you with wide, sleepy eyes. “baby, that’s not clingy. that’s called being in love.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “you’re such a softie.”

“only for you.” he yawns and rolls over onto his back so he can keep staring at you, eyes tracing your profile while you try to concentrate on your screen.

“what class is that?” he mumbles.

“social psych.”

“oh, the one with the professor you hate?”

“yeah.”

he grins. “wanna drop out?”

“desperately.”

heeseung reaches for your hand lazily and links his fingers with yours. “cool. let’s run away. you, me, a beach, no more group projects.”

you squeeze his hand gently. “tempting.”

“we can sell bracelets on the shore,” he says, already making up the fantasy. “i’ll sing for coins. you’ll study marine biology and adopt a turtle. we’ll name it minnie.”

“minnie?” you raise an eyebrow. “that’s the turtle name you go with?”

“it’s gender neutral. very inclusive.”

you roll your eyes, laughing. “you’re such an idiot.”

“but i’m your idiot.”

“gross.”

“say it back.”

you look down at him, hair messy on your lap, eyes soft with that boyish light that never seems to dim when he looks at you.

“you’re my idiot.”

heeseung grins like he just won something.

author's note: just had this urge to write boyfie!hee while preparing my sunghoon vamp fic. send me a request • my masterpost

#★ zrcdd works !#enhypen fluff #enhypen #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung fluff #lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #heeseung x yn #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fandom

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perlelune · 1 year ago

Text

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You flinch as you enter Livia Cardew’s house, the attention drifting towards you causing your stomach to knot.

You suck in a lungful of bravery.

What a strange sight you must make, strolling in with Clemensia Dovecote and Coriolanus Snow of all people, her arm twined with yours while his hand rests on the small of your back. Your heart pounds in your chest, the urge to retreat and run outside radiating from every cell in your body.

You don’t belong here.

They will laugh at you.

Silly girl playing dress-up.

Tendrils of doubt creep alongside the walls of your fretful brain. You feel assessed, and perhaps found to be lacking, with every step you take.

“Don’t look down, angel.”

A sharp exhale flies from your lips as your chin is tilted upwards. You drown in the ocean beneath Coriolanus’ furrowed brow. His intense focus tugs you back to the present.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’ll be fine. You look stunning,” Clemmie assures, bumping your shoulder with hers.

You give a shaky nod. It’s true. After all, Clemmie put so much effort into your appearance. You should at least hold your head high and act normal.

Livia comes up to you. The dim candlelight reflects in her bouncy golden curls. Her bright red lips stretch in a wide smile as she gauges you.

“You guys came together?”

Despite her perky inflection, you don’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes, or how they track the position of Coriolanus’ hand on your back.

“I drove them,” Coriolanus informs.

“Oh,” she says, nodding. She opens her arms. “You guys should get a drink, make yourselves comfortable.”

“I actually don’t…”

Clemmie flashes you a reassuring smile.

“It’s fine. We’ll get you something else.”

They both bring you to a table where an intense game of cards is in progress. You hear Festus curse and bang his fists over the table after seemingly getting a bad hand. The others around him laugh, one of them reshuffling the cards.

Some faces you recognize from the University and others you don’t. You feel their intrigued gazes when Coriolanus pulls a chair for you. As you take a seat, he and Clemmie do the same. Your eyes roam over the table. Piles of chips, row of cards and red dices. Clemensia mentioned games. You supposed she meant card games. And from the looks of it, money appears to be on the line. You suppose when they are not betting on the lives of children, these are the kind of things Capitol kids are up to.

With money and time to spare, it makes sense you suppose. Your head has always been buried so far in your books, you have never stopped to wonder what the future leaders of Panem are up to.

A sliver of fascination flutters through you as you soak in the scene at the table.

“Snow. Clemmie. Took you long enough,” Ivy says.

“You cannot rush perfection,” Clemmie replies, flicking her glossy raven locks above her shoulder.

Ivy rolls her eyes while Coriolanus grabs a set of cards from the draw pile. He frowns at them, a look of displeasure spreading on his face. A King, a queen and two aces. You don’t know how this particular game is played but you gather from his expression that he must hold a bad hand.

Dices are thrown. Despite not understanding the rules, you try to follow along. When someone offers you a set of cards, you politely decline.

The dark-haired stranger cocks his head as he scrutinizes you.

“So, you’re her daughter, right?”

Confused, you cast him a puzzled look.

“Gaul,” he specifies.

You shrink. Wherever you are, you cannot escape the overwhelming reach of your mother’s shadow. Twisting your fingers in your lap, you give a mumbled reply.

“Yeah, she’s my mother.”

He shifts in his chair, letting out a quiet whistle.

“Wow. She always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

Clemmie groans before scolding him.

“Well, she’s nothing like her mother so shut up and play, Octavius.”

Another girl sitting across from him pipes up.

“All those snakes in the arena, just crawling around and climbing over that girl.” She shudders. “I still get nightmares about it.”

The boy turns to Coriolanus.

“What happened to her anyway, that songbird of yours?”A smirk blooms on Octavius’ lips, his eyes locking with the blond’s. “She was yours, wasn’t she, Snow?”

An eerie quiet falls over the table. Even the soft piano notes playing in the background dwindle as every eye travels to Coriolanus. You shift in your chair, curiosity driving your gaze towards him as well.

A tight-lipped smile decorates his handsome features, his icy blue eyes zeroing on Octavius.

Your blood chills as his cool baritone rises.

“It’s your turn to play,” Coriolanus says, completely ignoring the question.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Everyone knows Lucy Gray Baird, the beautiful, sharp-tongued tribute who belonged to Coriolanus Snow, is a subject that should never be brought up in his presence. No one exactly knows what happened between the two. Perhaps they reunited during his time in District 12. Perhaps they did not. Coriolanus wouldn’t speak of it. And the rare times you witnessed him being asked about it, there was a coldness in his blue eyes that unsettled you. Like now.

Whatever happened between him and the singing girl would remain a mystery. The only certainty is that he came back to the Capitol changed, with an aura around him that made everyone wary.

You can only assume he and that Lucy girl did not last. So the subject must still be a sore spot.

Octavius flinches under the blond’s stare, showing his cards for the entire table to see.

The blond’s brow arches. Scoffing, he displays his own hand.

Octavius curses under his breath as laughs erupt. He begrudgingly slides his entire stack of chips towards Coriolanus.

Victory glints in the blond’s cobalt orbs.

“Perhaps you should focus on your game,” he says. “Instead of blathering about ghosts and district rats.”

Slack-jawed, you stare at Coriolanus. His expression before had you believe he drew a terrible set of cards. Obviously it wasn't the case. He somehow fooled you and everyone else at the table.

The game continues. More chips are exchanged. Coriolanus’ pile keeps getting higher. It’s clear he’s an expert at the game. Everyone at the table tries to read him but his collected demeanor concedes very little.

“You must be my good luck charm, angel,” he says, sending you a smile that has your stomach fluttering.

Luck…as you note the staggering amounts of chips he’s collected thus far, you wonder if that’s what this is. If there isn’t more to it. Coriolanus seems terrifyingly adept at luring his opponents with a false sense of comfort. He’ll make a bad hand look like a good one, and a good hand look like a bad one. Set a trap and watch as others confidently walk into it.

Growing overwhelmed, you rise from your chair. The clamor of your heart fills your ears, the weight of others’ attention making your head spin.

Coriolanus’ head slants.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

The words leave your mouth in a breathless heap. “I just need a minute.”

“Is everything alright?” Clemmie inquires, concern scrunching her pretty features.

You shift and scratch your arm.

“I’m just gonna get a drink.”

“I could get you one,” he suggests.

“No, you guys stay and play,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine on my own.”

You ignore the way his eyes linger as you walk away, that itchy prickle over your nape that ripples down to your spine.

Swallowing thickly, you shuffle across Livia’s living room. An Avox maid offers you a glass on the way but you turn her down.

You ask for an alcohol-free drink and the maid tosses you an apologetic look. Your shoulders slump.

You peer around and find a spot at the bottom of the stairs. You sit, relieved to finally have a moment of peace. Being around so many people at once is still a novelty. You lean against the wooden railings. Was coming here a mistake? You can’t help but wonder. You noted someone pulling a bottle of morphling earlier and Ivy swallowing a handful of pills. At this point, everyone has imbibed, indulged, or both.

The thrall of oblivion is often strong in the Capitol. Too many things need forgetting. Too many sins. Too many horrors.

In that moment, as laughter from the living room rings inside your ears, you feel acutely out of place.

“Sorry. I only have posca, wine or whiskey.”

You lift your head. Your eyes widen when you realize Livia Cardew’s standing in front of you. “Well. I swiped that last one from my dad’s stash,” she adds with a small giggle.

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

You’ve probably overstayed your welcome anyway. This isn’t your crowd. But Clemmie insisted and you had no idea how to refuse. How do you even refuse something you have painfully yearned for all these years?

Livia scrutinizes you for what seems an eternity before speaking again.

“He’ll throw you away once he’s done with you, you know?”

You blink, dismayed by her abrupt statement. “I’m sorry?”

She lets out a weary sigh, a look grazing sympathy flickering on her face. It vanishes quickly. Her mouth tightens.

“Snow,” she groans, frustration evident in her tone. “He doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself.” Your brows knit. “I’m just trying to warn you.” She chews on her bottom lip, seeming to hesitate before bending closer to whisper, “Just…watch out, okay?”

Stumped by her sudden display of concern, no word leaves your tongue. You fold your arms, shifting on the stairs. Can you even trust any word coming from Livia’s mouth? Without Clemmie’s interjection, you’re fairly sure you wouldn't have been allowed into her home. Ever since she met you, she’s considered you with such blatant disdain. As if you were a stain that won’t let itself be erased.

You struggle picturing her delivering helpful advice.

“Liv, I hope you’re not giving her a hard time again.”

You let your body sag, grateful for Clemmie’s impromptu appearance. You get to your feet. Livia whirls towards the brunette, feigning innocence. “I’m being a gracious host,” she chimes.

Clemmie’s gaze narrows.

All smiles again, she turns to you as Livia stomps away.

“Don’t worry about her.”

You nibble your bottom lip.

“Maybe it’s best if I head out.”

She frowns. “But you just got here.”

“I suppose…” Your mind scrambles for an excuse. You blurt out the first thing that springs inside your head. “I need to go feed Walter anyway.”

Curiosity fills her onyx stare.

“Walter? Who’s Walter?”

“My cat.”

Silence stretches for a long minute before she bursts out in uncontrollable laughter.

Hand draping over her mouth, the brunette says, “Is that your excuse? You need to go feed your cat?”

Heat rushes to your face. Said aloud, you concede it sounds silly. Akin to a lame, hasty excuse. While there are bits of truth in your response, you can’t deny you’re craving for a way out.

Clemmie cradles your face.

“The first time is always a bit awkward. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, what is even going on…” She beams at you. “But you can’t back out. Not when you’re already here.”

You mull it over.

After all, wasn’t it what you wished for? Being seen, included. For years, longing twisted inside your chest while you watched your classmates form bonds and forge lifelong friendships. Meanwhile, you withered in a corner, making yourself smaller and smaller everyday. Clemmie has been nothing but kind. And Coriolanus…while his presence plucks at your nerves, you have to admit he’s been a gentleman so far. Offering to drive you home, carrying your books, and berating every guy who said something mean to you or brushed you off. No one’s ever stood up for you like that before.

Maybe you ought to try harder to fit in, be normal.

Giving a slow nod, you surrender.

“Alright. I guess I can stay a little longer.”

“You know what you need?” Her eyes twinkle. “Liquid courage.” She grabs two glasses of wine from the Avox maid’s tray. “Let’s just drink. To your first party. One of many, I hope.”

She tries to place one in your hand but you resist.

“Clemmie, I told you I don’t-”

“I know. I know…but don’t you want to mark the occasion?” She tilts her head sideways, sympathy etched on her pretty face. “Come on, do you want to be that girl who finishes Uni and hasn’t tried anything new? The girl who’s never taken a chance?” She holds your gaze, pressing the drink between your fingers. “Sad, alone, not a single experience to reminisce…Is this really what you want?”

“No, it’s not. You’re right,” you mutter, your fingers tightening around the glass.

“You came here to be someone else. So be someone else.”

Her words embolden you to take a large swig of the drink. When there’s still some of it left, she encourages you to finish it. Then, she nudges you to have another glass, sliding a tiny yellow pill inside your other hand.

You scowl down at your palm.

“What’s this?”

“Morphling extract. It’ll help you relax.”

You look at Clemmie. Excitement sways in her eyes.

You toss your head back and gulp down the pill. She congratulates you. It catches in your throat and you wash it down with more alcohol.

The effect is near instantaneous.

Your muscles uncoil, your fear melting away. Soft, fluffy clouds replace the foggy cluster of your thoughts. A pleasant buzz spreads through your veins.

“Come on, let’s join the others,” she says, seizing your hand and tugging you along.

You end up on the sofa, wedged between her and Coriolanus.

He drinks you in, a subtle smile blooming on his lips.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy.”

Your sharp, immediate answer broadens his smile.

“What are you guys doing?” Clemmie asks.

Livia sighs. “It’s a stupid game we haven’t played since the Academy.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. I like it,” Ivy protests. She grabs a bottle of posca and begins to pour some in everyone’s glass. “You take a drink when there’s something you haven’t done. Simple right?”

The game is indeed easy. It also makes you want to crawl inside a hole and never come out as the night gets further along. A myriad of questions is flung at the group. Each of them grows the well of embarrassment pitting in your stomach.

You’re forced to take a drink when Ivy asks who’s had sex, who has done it with more than one person, who has kissed a boy or girl.

Many times, you are the only one grabbing your glass, exposing your lack of experience to the entire group. You hear a stifled laugh somewhere besides you. Your face ignites.

You bolt upwards, shooting the group an apologetic look.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say.

You stumble away. However after just a few wobbly steps toward the exit, you keel over and almost collide with the marbled tiles.

A pair of strong arms slither around your waist, preventing your collapse.

“Are you alright, angel?” Coriolanus whispers against your temple.

You raise shaky fingers to your face, or what you think is your face. Your fingertips are like cotton, nothing beneath them feeling as it should.

Your brows crumple.

“I can’t feel my legs. I-I can’t feel my face.” Your mind swirls as you look up. The room bends off its axis around you. Panic rushes through you. “I have to go home.”

“I’ll take you then,” he says.

You shake your head. Even that tiny motion makes you want to puke.

You swallow the surge of bile in your throat.

“No. You should return to the party. I couldn’t, I can’t…”

Coriolanus’ brows furrow.

“I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this hour and in this state,” he says, practically carrying you out of Livia’s house as you slump against him.

“What about Clemmie?”

He smiles at you as you hobble alongside him.

“She can find her own way home.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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p0orbaby · 10 months ago

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i would love something from the “Spark Enough and Something Catches” universe 🥹 was so happy for R allowing herself to be more vulnerable, would love to know how those two cuties are doing further down the line!

You never thought you’d end up here—dating a world-famous footballer with legs for days and a laugh that makes your chest feel weird, but here you are, sitting at your kitchen table, staring at a bouquet of flowers she sent you. Just because she can. Of course, they’re perfectly arranged, like something out of a magazine that you’d flip through absentmindedly in a dentist’s office, all pastels and thoughtful greenery. You wouldn’t even be surprised if the florist’s apprentice cried while tying the ribbon, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of their creation.

The card attached? “Hope these brighten your day, even if you don’t like football. xo, A.”

You’ve been staring at it for about 15 minutes, wondering if this is what people in normal, functional relationships do. Get flowers. Smile. Maybe cry a little, but the good kind. You’d text a thank you, but you’ve already said thanks for the dinner last night, the ride home, and her cooking, which honestly made you feel inadequate. You are now 90% sure you’ve been overthanking her for everything and it’s becoming suspicious. God, the flowers. What are you supposed to do with these? You don’t even own a proper vase.

She’s always surprising you, though. It’s her thing. Like when she made pancakes at 3 a.m. because you mentioned offhand you were craving something sweet, and there she was in your kitchen, half-asleep but determined, whisking batter like her life depended on it. You tried to help, but she gave you that look—half-amused, half-“don’t you dare”—so you just sat and watched. How does someone like her, so capable and graceful on the field, manage to make something as simple as cooking pancakes seem like a scene from a romantic comedy?

And then there’s you, a certified mess, who can barely manage to keep the houseplants alive. You once killed a succulent, a plant specifically designed to withstand neglect, and you still don’t know how it happened. But she didn’t care about that. She just laughed when you told her, like she found it charming. Like that was somehow endearing instead of a flashing neon sign that you have no business being trusted with anything living.

The first time she came over to your place, she brought dinner—because, of course, she did—and you remember her standing in your tiny kitchen, eyeing the pile of dishes in the sink. You were mortified, but she just rolled up her sleeves and started washing them. “I can’t concentrate with these staring at me,” she said, and that was that. It took you five whole minutes to figure out how to process that. What kind of person does that? And why does she keep looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room, when you’re 99% sure you’re the human equivalent of a cat that’s just fallen off the sofa?

You get the feeling she knows what she’s doing, though. She’s patient. Calculated. Like on the field, but now the game’s you, and she’s just waiting for you to realize you’re already cornered. She’s not wrong. You’re screwed.

So, you text her, finally, trying to play it cool. “Thanks for the flowers, very thoughtful. You didn’t have to.”

Her reply is almost immediate. “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to”

You stare at the message. Of course she did.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso x reader

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vanilabaebo · 12 days ago

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𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄. [ pt 1. ]

inf: denki kaminari is your best friend and you've never thought of him as anything more than that. he's always been there for you when you need him, but now he needs your help. the more you help him out, the closer you two grow, and you can't keep denying your growing feelings. but does he feel the same?

cw: fluff. denki x afab!reader, lots of sass, reader has unnamed quirk.

“ughhh. i'm so bored. didn't i ask you last time to buy board games or a netflix subscription, y'know, like a normal person?”

your best friend, denki kaminari, is sprawled on your couch, golden blonde hair ruffled from his mussing it up one too many times, an annoyed expression on his face since the tv screen is black and your dorm room is basically empty. well.

“and what did i tell you?” you say, scowling because yes he did tell you to at least buy a set of cards so he’s not always bored as hell when he comes over. “i told you that if you want all that stuff, you can pay it yourself. i need to save up.”

denki tosses his head back and stares at the ceiling. “save up for what? just buy like, i don’t know, a chessboard or something.”

you laugh. “chess? I didn’t know you knew what that is.”

he throws a pillow your way. it’s not a secret denki has the lowest grades out of all your friends, even if he does manage to keep them above average. still, it’s the subject of most of your jokes; denki doesn’t seem to mind since even he laughs about it too.

“fine. i’ll buy you a set of cards. and then i can teach you how to play crazy 8’s, and uno, and poker and blackjack and—”

“denki. thank you, but it’s fine. i need to focus on studying, midterm exams are coming up.” you turn around, pulling out your phone to see what your grades are like. being a gifted scholarship student means tons of studying, or else the school might take away the scholarship money.

he frowns, chin down with a scowl and yellow eyes flashing with irritation. “fine, but you’re not gonna keep coming over to my dorm to watch kdramas, i’ll tell you that right now.”

you roll your eyes. okay, maybe a netflix subscription would be worth it.

≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽≽

the next day, the dorm building’s recreational room is basically empty, except for denki’s other friends, eijiro kirishima and hanta sero, who throws crumpled up tape-balls at the ceiling.

“hey guys,” you greet them, setting your backpack down on a round table and getting out your laptop to open up to the course you’d been struggling at—chemistry.

“hey, kami’s girl,” sero says teasingly, effortlessly catching a ball of tape that falls.

you frown. “i’m not his girl.”

“you wish you were, though,” says kirishima with a stupid wide smirk on his face.

“do not. i just help him study,” you reply, turning your back on them to sit down and press start on the four-part video course explaining the differences and details of covalent and ionic bonds. you reach in your messy, overcrowded backpack to pull out your chem binder.

“wanna play pool with us?” sero says. he and kirishima hold cue sticks and stand by the pool table, staring at you expectantly.

ignoring them would be rude, but you really need to understand these concepts or else you might fail the midterm. “i can’t, guys. sorry. this is really important.”

“laaameeee,” kirishima chants, sero agrees. “denki would’ve.”

you almost say, well, good thing he’s not here then, now is it? but as always, fate is against you — or, speak of the devil and he may appear, or whatever phrase describes this — because denki bursts into the room, a blur of yellow blonde and black leather jacket and sweat and dior sauvage all at once.

“denki!” sero and kirishima chirp. “play pool with us!”

you groan inwardly. now you’ll never get a chance to — wait, what did denki just say?

“sorry guys, i can’t. got those midterm exams coming in what, like, a month?” denki looks at you with a bright smile on his face. you want to dig a deep hole and die in it. no way in hell does denki of all people want to study. here. at this table. with you. in front of his friends.

sero smirks, but doesn’t say anything, while kirishima just calls him lame-o and they start playing; it’s then that you realize it’s a two-player game; how could you have possibly joined them? maybe it’s best not to question.

“hey,” denki says. “i brought you cards. what game do you wanna learn first?”

you cant help but frown. “denki, thanks, but i really do have to study. don’t you have to study too?” even though he doesn’t show it, you know he does get concerned about his grades. denki isn’t one to get good grades, but he does try.

he rolls his eyes. “come on, worry about something else for a change. like being beat at cards by me.”

you smirk. “yeah, right. hey, did you check your email? a couple professors sent out things for the exams. like, warnings and precautions and stuff.”

denki hesitates, then nods, a nervous hand running through his hair when he speaks. “uh, yeah, i checked a couple hours ago.” but there’s something in his eyes that tells you he didn’t just read over it, there’s something else to it, something he’s not saying.

“denki, what is it?” you ask. you can’t help but be concerned. after all, he is your best friend, and usually when you two worry about grades, you worry together.

but is this more than grades? you can’t tell, but the way that denki’s frown deepens when he opens his email and tilts it towards you is worrisome.

and then you see it.barely holding back your gasp, you bring one hand to your lips. “oh, denki. that’s bad. really bad.”

the email is from the school's vice principal, cc'ing the department of advisory and the school's counselling office. and what it reads frightens you to the core:

kaminari denki, your grade in the class of multivariable calculus is in danger of becoming too low to pass the class. please see the counseling office to discuss potential ways to assist you with the concepts you may be struggling with. please note: should you be unable to pass the class, you will need to retake it either the following year or over the course of the summer. thank you.

you glance at denki, whose normally carefree expression is frozen with embarrassment and hopelessness. basically, he's doomed.

a/n: should i make a part two? part 2 would be a little longer but would also move faster & there would be more fluff/suggestive moments. comment if i should, & if you have any requests just send an ask!

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coffeeghoulie · 2 months ago

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Mushy May Day 1: Sleepover

we're so back. i am so excited.

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together for the third year in a row <3

Dew gets invited to spend a hotel night with Aether, Sunny, Cirrus, Cumulus, and Rain. Party games are played, and Dew is nothing if not petty about losing. Aether is a menace. Rated Teen for some suggestiveness. 1k.

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

“Isn’t this a game for human kits?” Dew says, plopping down in between Cumulus and Sunny as he pops the cap on a bottle of beer with his claw. Across the circle from him, Aether takes a swig from his own bottle and raises an eyebrow.

Rain shrugs. “I mean, the older ones play it,” they say. “It’s a party game, apparently.”

“Some party,” Dew jokes, gesturing around to the hotel room the six of them have crammed themselves into, one of the beds pushed up against the other to make room to sit on the floor and drink cheap beer. Mountain and Swiss had accepted an invitation into Copia’s room after a successful Ritual, and rather then go to sleep and be rested for the next day of travel, Rain had talked Dew into coming and joining the rest of them for a little of their own fun.

“Oh, come on, Dewey, lighten up,” Rain teases. They run a hand through blue black waves and flutter their eyelashes. “Promise I’ll make it real sweet for you when you land on me.”

Dew rolls his eyes as the other burst into laughter. He whips his head over to Aether. “You shouldn’t be laughing at that, starshine, you really want your mate kissing other ghouls?” he complains almost petulantly.

Aether just raises an eyebrow as Cumulus knocks her shoulder into Dew’s bony one. “Dewdrop. We have been the furthest thing from exclusive and you know it.”

Dew sighs, lips quirking up into a small smile before he hides it behind his beer bottle. Cirrus flashes him a knowing smile before leaning over and resting her head on Cumulus’s shoulder for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dew says. “Who’s going first?”

“Me,” Sunny butts in, setting an empty beer bottle in the center of their little circle before anyone else can speak up. “And if it doesn’t point directly at someone when it stops, I’m kissing whoever’s closest. Take it or leave it.”

There’s no argument, so Sunny spins the bottle fast and hard, the glass rattling against the cheap vinyl floor. Dew can’t look away from the motion, even as the circular motion makes him the slightest bit dizzy.

The bottle comes to a shuddering stop facing Cirrus, and Sunny lights up. “Come on, gimme some sugar, blossom,” she grins, tail flicking in satisfaction behind her. Sunny practically crawls across the circle to press a loud kiss to Cirrus’s lips.

She cards her fingers through Sunny’s auburn curls, cups her cheek for a moment. Surprisingly tender against Sunny’s energy and the context of the game. Dew can’t see Sunny’s full expression, but he can see the way her cheek dimples, and then she sits back down.

“Clockwise?” Rain asks, taking a sip of their beer and grimacing the slightest bit. They really grabbed the cheapest shit they could find, but Dew thinks it adds to the charm. Really makes it feel like they’re teenagers at a party, doing something they aren’t supposed to.

Sunny hums. “Nah. Dew, your turn.”

He laughs, sets his beer down and spins the bottle, all without looking away from Aether’s eyes. “Big guy or bust,” he snarks, and Cirrus snorts behind her own drink.

The bottle, of course, lands on Cumulus instead. Dew will never complain about kissing one of his girls, so he turns and smiles fondly at where she sits next to him.

She’s quick to kiss him, and Cumulus laughs against his lips when she licks against the seam and pulls back before Dew can chase the sensation. He doesn’t need to see himself to know his cheeks are glowing like an ember.

Cumulus spins, lands on Aether, and Aether flashes her a boyish grin he normally turns on Dew. Cirrus leans back so they can kiss, and Aether doesn’t look away from his mate as he does it.

Dew is not fuming, thank you very much. He understands the game and agreed to play and he is not jealous. He watches Cirrus peck Rain on the cheeks, and Aether kiss Cumulus, and when Rain spins it lands on him, and he is very much not against kissing his pretty pearl.

Cirrus wolf whistles when they part, and the burn of jealousy eases. Dew licks his lips and settles smugly back on his haunches.

Sunny lands on Aether next, and Aether grins as he holds her face tenderly for a moment, kissing her for several beats longer. Dew can feel the heat radiating off of her when she sits back down.

“Alright, let’s try this again,” Dew scoffs, reaching into the circle to spin the bottle. He glares at Aether when the bottle spins past him and lands on Rain like it’s Aether’s fault where the bottle stopped. The big ghoul throws up his hands in surrender, laughing like he’s just been beamed with a pick onstage.

“You’re complaining about kissing me again?” Rain laughs, something bright and mischievous glinting in their eye.

“No, never,” Dew laughs, carding spindly fingers through their hair as he kisses the words from their mouth.

He’s barely back in his spot before Cumulus spins, and she lands on Aether. As does Cirrus. Aether’s own spin lands him on Sunny, but then Rain lands on Aether. And Sunny lands on Aether again.

Dew tries to guess exactly how much force it’ll take to land on his mate. Spins the bottle. His fingers shake just the slightest bit but he convinces himself he’s not jealous. Not at all.

The bottle goes around and around and around, rattling on the floor, and Dew almost cheers as it slows to point at Aether.

And then the bottle jumps to Rain unnaturally.

“That shouldn’t have done that,” Dew says, brow furrowing.

“What, land on me?” Rain asks, and the rest of the ghouls cackle. Aether takes a swig of his drink, but Dew knows that smug look.

“Aether. You used your fucking quintessence to stop the bottle,” he accuses. Sunny shoves his shoulder, cackling at such a suggestion.

“So what if I did?” Aether says, slowly raising an eyebrow as he finishes his beer.

“Oh, that’s fucking it,” Dew says, getting up and crossing the circle. He accidentally kicks the bottle aside as he hauls Aether to his feet.

Aether just laughs, letting Dew manhandle him, starting to march him to the adjoining hotel room he’s sharing with Rain.

Sunny cackles. “Welp, I guess we’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven now.”

#genuinely so excited for this month #i have many ideas and i hope i can pull them all off #mushy may 2025 #dot's writing #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #rain ghoul #mushy may

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