#GOD THIS HAS BEEN BUZZING IN MY VEINS FOR DAYS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mondaymelon · 1 year ago

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₊˚ෆ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 !! | sagau xiao, childe, zhongli x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: uhm. obsessiveness? yandere if you blink a couple times? cult themes... the usual deal with this au

⤷ [ you, the benevolent and kind overseer and creator of teyvat, has descended upon this world in mortal flesh, with a presence that is overpowering, omniscient, and so impossibly pure. ෆ yet, one day, you come into the cathedral with a gash on your arm, dripping with shimmering golden ichor that spilled from your veins. there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring. ]

— sagau!xiao noticed you immediately. it would be hard not to. since the beginning, he had always heard it.

your sound. a beautiful one, a heavenly one. a chord struck him, somewhere in his chest, and he found himself panting on the ground, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

like a electric charge - one that leaves you startled, tentative, with the tips of your fingers still tingling from what happened moments prior. a buzz in your veins that thrums along with your heartbeat.

he didn't deserve to see you. not with what sins he had committed. but xiao was selfish. he wanted to, with his tainted body, he wanted to praise you, scrape his throat raw with his voice.

and so he did.

his face brightens as you step into the cathedral, dressed in ceremonial robes as per usual. you look ethereal, why would you not? your eyes are warm as they fixate on him, and he can feel his heart skip a beat and words die in his throat. he kneels before you orderly, readying to lift his head when something catches his attention - that is, the coppery scent of blood.

blood?

a droplet splatters onto the dustless floor. melted gold.

xiao's already stood up before he realizes it. his eyes are blown wide, his shrunken pupils sharp, like a cat's. "who. who did this to you?" those words take all the willpower in him to speak. his mind is swirling, racing, thinking up of every single possibility, vision scattered and blurry as unbridled fury teems within him.

"it's nothing. some civilians have begun rioting in the city, saying that i'm an imposter. all i did was show them a little bit of my blood and they all started singing praises, so the issue has been resolved." you shake your head with a soft smile, like this matter isn't anything to concern himself over.

it is.

he hates it. how he feels so fucking powerless, how he couldn't even stop this simple event from occurring in the first place. it's his fault. it's his and everyone else who dared not believe your words. your word is the truth. it is the undeniable laws of the world, what maps the stars and what lays the land.

he'll have time to ingrain that within everyone's minds. even if it means time away from you. but that's not the issue at the moment. he turns to search for bandages, but sees the already-healing wound slowly closing up as your skin mends together.

there's a knife at your side, coated in something that shimmers in the rays of light coming from the high, color-tainted windows.

something in his heart decides, seeing your reserved smile.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

very well.

then he'll just have to eradicate every last one of them. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!childe had, to be honest, never cared all that much. why would he, to the person who had abandoned him into the cold, dark, abyss? yet, the smile on your face. it's bright. so bright it burns him. was there a day where he could smile like that?

no, no. he couldn't. that's an expression only reserved for someone as beautiful as you. as pure as you, like a blank, unblemished canvas, with the world as its paint. it's a level of resplendency that no one on this cursed universe could ever hope to accomplish.

a god in flesh, living in a tainted world. a walking contradiction that he had grown to call the thing that allowed him to keep living. something that spurred irony, you who broke all forms of the logic he had made to keep himself sane. perhaps that was why the heart he'd locked away has suddenly begun aching again? is that why he feels so warm from your divine prescence?

"childe?" you call out his name into the vast, empty hallways, glancing around for the familiar sight of a tuft of ginger hair. he hears you at once, rushing to your side with a grin on his face.

"your grace??" he bows at the sight of you, unable -to contain his excitement as he quivers in place, the smile on his lips tugging upwards even more than its current extent. "yes, what's-"

he stops abruptly, his voice faltering as he catches the scent of something iron. one familiar on the battlefield, a liquid that'd paint the surroundings a beautiful red.

his heart pounds. the thrill of a battle? no, that can't be it. if that was the case, how come it felt like he was slowly suffocating on his unspoken words?

that's when he catches the sight of the poorly wrapped bandages encasing your forearms. and the shimmering ichor that's soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth.

he moves to grab your arm, but curses himself out as he quickly changes direction and tightly holds your wrist, his expression more pained than yours, despite you being the one suffering with the injury. "what... your grace, what is this?"

he hates your knowing smile. he hates it. (oh, but does he? could he hate anything that is of you?) it just reminds him how you're all too far for him to reach, a purity that he does nothing to maintain. "there was a riot in the city against the church. luckily, they all quieted down after i gave them a glimpse of..." you trail off, ending your incomplete sentence with a sheepish smile. the rest is self-explanatory, anyway.

his vision trembles as his pupils shake. "haha, you...?" fuck. fuck fuck fuck, just whose idea was it to allow you near a knife? how did you get your hands on that?? which stupid fucking bumbling idiot allowed for this to happen?

it's his fault. he should've been by your side. curse the fatui, curse them all, how could they possibly dare keep him away from your holy being? the guilt that churns within him, is that why he remains mute as you step away, gracefully walking to meet with the other retainers?

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

no, it's fine.

it will all be fine.

cutting off their tongues won't be enough. cutting them up until they're a dismembered, bloody mess isn't even close to what you've suffered for the sake of humanity.

yes, he'll make them realize that. they'll pay with their blood a thousand times over. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!zhongli had his breath taken away by you before he even saw you, before the two of you had even exchanged words. your presence - it was so simply alluring, a saccharide charm that just drew him closer and closer.

sweet. yes, it was a familiar flavor upon the tongue that had long since tasted the many marvels the world had to offer. like a warm cup of tea, made from the sugary extract of flowers, how the sensation of it seemed to bloom upon your mouth.

ah, how should he put this. perhaps you had procured the blossom in his heart instead? stems, leaves, buds, a floret that'd only appear when you were in his gaze. a steady thrum that ran throughout his body with every stolen glimpse he took from your attention expertly.

perhaps, was this what he felt all those years ago?

did it matter? his soul was resolute, now, and it glowed gold, just like the blessed blood that flowed through every vein and lay in every vessel within that beautiful, beautiful you.

yes, ichor... just like the splatter of it on the ground...? a pang of fear strikes him - has something happened to you while he was away? he should've none better than to trust those good-for-nothing other cultists, who spend all their time babbling about your gloriousness yet turn a blind eye to whenever you require assistance!

no, he had to calm himself down. this wasn't the moment where he should grow frustrated. first, he must confirm the situation... he's planned this out to the every plan b, c, d, e, and so on, so how come he's still feeling so anxious?

there you are, upon your throne, busy conversing with a fellow archon, the one as free as the wind. funnily enough, you were the one that tied him down like a shackle.

"ah, zhongli. are you alright? you're breathing quite hard." you tilt your head, averting your gaze from venti's sparkling eyes and instead fixing them on the usually stoic man's jumbled expression. his shoulder's heave as he resists the urge to collapse at your feet.

"what... what are you... you're hurt?" stained bandages peek out from just below your silk sleeve, a sight that cannot possibly be missed from his attentive gilded eyes. "why didn't you tell me? i-i'll call one of the healers so they can-"

"zhongli, there's no need for that." with a hand, you gently signal venti to leave the scene, which he does, with obvious reluctance. a silence gesture that resonates with appreciation deeply within him. "this was of my own accord."

"your own accord?"

"unbelievers decided to throw a riot, and there wasn't much i could do except...well, don't they say that seeing is believing?" how come you don't look the slightest bit pain? where is your self-pity? your frustration? "anyhow, i'm not in a good state. please leave me for the time being, i don't plan on receiving any more audiences tonight."

he bows hastily, yet each movement is still finely crafted with minuscule adjustments that have taken him thousands of tries to master. he does as you say, and his strides are quick and long. it won't take a genius to see that his facade has crumpled, with the clear agitation that's spreading across his features like a wildfire that devours all in its path.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

he'll change that. every thrum of the golden markings running up and down his body seem to pulse in unison with his heartbeat, which is raring like he's recently returned from the battlefield.

who would've thought he'd so quickly return.

this time, of his own will. he'd be sure that these fools of this world would learn the truth of your paragon. ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) please save me the delulu has returned and iTS NOT LETTING GO

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

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lostintransist · 1 month ago

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Secrets Are For Grown Ups

I am demanding my smooches now.

@beloveds-embrace @cherrycosmos392 @mxtallymarks @love-kha1

CW: Asshole Simon and Johnny using you for sex instead of each other. Calling out someone else's name during sex. Pregnancy mentioned. Death of a spouse mentioned.

Simon slipped. Well. Simon slipped first. Johnny slipped up too. They ruined you, tugging you between them instead of reaching out for the other. You couldn’t fathom them caring. Even now.

If they cared about you they wouldn’t have touched you. You had been twenty-four and still so young. God, you were thirty now and still felt like you didn’t have a handle on life. Johnny had been twenty-nine and Simon thirty-three. Old enough to know better. At least to know better than you.

A series of coincidences led you to a one-year work visa and as an American transfer under the 141 task force. You handled paperwork mostly, and whatever didn’t involve paperwork meant dealing with your counterparts back in DC. You keep slightly funny hours to stay working on Washington time but that wasn’t unusual for anyone else who shared your building. The lights stayed at a low dim all day and night because three pm and three am felt a lot alike when rolling in off a job.

You were a nodding professional with Captain Price, Lieutenant Sanderson, and Sergeant Garrick. Sergeant MacTavish flirted with you. You accepted it with a wary eye and a cool confirmation of what he meant each time. Lieutenant Riley watched. He never spoke to you unless he needed something until the night in the bar. Six months had elapsed on your visa when Gaz, as he had asked you to call him, invited you to the bar with everyone. Seeing no reason to not say yes you had gone.

Off base and with a little buzz in your veins you let Johnny flirt. He insisted on his first name as he sidled up close to you halfway through your first drink. You’d always been wary of Johnny’s flirting. He’s attractive with all the muscles he maintains for work, the air of danger that lingers around him like cologne, and that barely visible scar near his lip. Problem is he knows it. Or at least he knows people react to him with pretty privilege. He makes you laugh. You don’t know why it surprises you, of course, he had to have a good sense of humor to deal with his job.

Lieutenant Riley was watching again. The prickling of your senses that tells you a predator is watching is what gave it away. Staying at the bar smiling at Johnny seemed safer until you had to pee. Passing your cup to the bartender with a quick ‘I’m done with this’ you excuse yourself from the bar and wend your way around the nearly touching tables to find the bathroom.

The narrow wood-paneled hallway had a single bulb shining down on you from a sconce high on the wall. Taking the time to dry your hands completely you pause when you see that the hallway has gone dark. Diffusing light from the main room reaches only so far into the darkness. Scanning you see nothing out of the ordinary and let the crack of light from the bathroom disappear as the door settles closed.

Running the tips of your fingers over the wall, the bumps telling the tales of so many decades of drunken bathroom trips, you touch something that is made of steel and flesh. Jumping back with a squeak you search with your gaze for anything.

“Why does Johnny like you?”

Riley. You let out the breath you had been holding. It’s Lieutenant Riley, not someone who would hurt you.

“You know sir I have no idea. Do you know?” You aimed your voice up.

“I might have an idea.” He surprises you with a touch to your neck. Trailing up to your jaw before dry lips brush against yours.

Stepping back you gave a startled exclamation.

“Ah…uh..Excuse me, Lieutenant, I think I need to go home.”

Skirting around him you flee like a hare that caught the sense of a hawk in the sky. When you retrieve your purse from the chair next to Johnny you find a beautiful woman draped across it talking him up.

“Sorry, I just need my bag,” you said drawing both of their attention to you.

“Ah, bonnie,” Johnny started sadly, “Heading out so soon?”

“Yeah um,” you scratch the back of your head, low near your hairline. “I need to head home.”

Standing he ignored the woman flirting with him entirely.

“Let me walk you home?” He steps too close to you but the body in a chair directly behind your ass keeps you from moving for more space.

Glancing to the storm brewing in the woman’s face you try and redirect him.

“I mean you looked like you were having such a good conversation I’m gonna go wait for a cab. Thank you for the offer though. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” With that you scooted past, unsure how you felt about the full body contact required.

Okay, well your lady bits knew exactly how they felt about it but you as a person? You were unsure. It felt like you had been dropped into a game that you didn’t know the rules of. It continued on like that, them pushing you and breaking your boundaries down one touch at a time until Simon pounded into you from behind in a supply closet. You crept closer to that temporary oblivion when Simon slipped.

A guttural moan washed over your back, Simon’s fingers tightening down on your hips.

“Johnny, oh Johnny!” He came then with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Any chance of an orgasm on your end dried up like a puddle on concrete in direct sun. Simon didn’t notice, pulling out and cleaning up the mess he had made of you before pulling you up and then your underwear. He gave your ass a light tap and planted a kiss at your temple before leaving you to the scent of cleaning supplies.

You worked the day in the eye of a storm. Mentally reaching out to touch your emotions you found only a torrent of fast-moving thoughts and feelings. You made it to your flat before the pressure of the eye wall faulted, crushing you under its weight. The next week you had a hard time eating, focusing, and doing anything outside of work really. Work had you hyper-vigilant always on watch for the spooky silent lieutenant that might try to pull you into a dark room. You didn’t think you could survive another encounter with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Oddly enough Johnny noticed the distress you seemed to be under and took to feeding you. He dropped off a snack at your desk every day and chatted with/at you until you ate it all before disappearing into the bowels of the building again. Three weeks after the Simon incident as you had taken to calling it in your head Johnny had pulled the same shit.

Flat on your back, knees nearly touching your ears he rammed into you. Pleasure crested for you as he could no longer hold on.

“Simon,” the breathy whisper betrayed him. He must have thought you to far gone in your orgasm to hear him.

They had to be fucking kidding you.

Would it hurt less if they were kidding you?

How the hell were you supposed to deal with this happening to you twice?

Johnny pulled out and flopped face down on his bed beside you.

Sitting up slowly you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna use the hall bathroom to go pee. I’ll probably be a minute.”

He grunts his acknowledgment and you set your exit strategy into action. Johnny knew you preferred to put your clothes back on for cuddles if you left the bed for any reason. Grabbing up all of your items you stepped from his bedroom hugging your clothes so tight the zipper of your jeans bit into the side of your breast. Peeing and washing your hands you dressed.

Stepping from the bathroom you called down the hall to Johnny.

“Do you have any cheese or nuts?”

“In the cabinet or the fridge,” came his return call.

Good. He wouldn’t think some odd sounds coming from this direction odd then. Tying your shoes on you open and shut a couple of cupboards and the fridge before rattling the dishes in the dishwasher grabbing your purse and leaving his flat.

Johnny didn’t come after you if he noticed your absence. Arriving home you noted the time. It was four pm on a Friday, Captain Price would still be at the office doing paperwork.

You called him as you started packing.

“Price.”

“Hi, Captain. I am just calling to let you know there has been a family emergency back home and I will be hopping on a plane tonight. I don’t know when this will be resolved. Can you send me any paperwork that I will need to complete so my work visa will close out as it should?”

“I’m sorry to hear about the family emergency, you let me know if you need anything. Your contract will run its course, including the agreed-upon pay, and conclude the day before your visa expires. The only thing you will need to worry about is talking to an accountant out here to figure out your share of taxes to be paid.”

Captain Price had always been like that with you, straightforward and honest. Unlike his men.

“That sounds reasonable and doable. If you have a recommendation of a firm I can reach out to that would be immensely helpful,” you stare at your shoe options, deciding which ones to leave behind since your bag was getting too full with the haphazard way you filled it.

“I don’t have one off the top of my head but I will ask around. Will this number still work?”

“No, this is a UK number that will probably stop working somewhere over the Atlantic. Can you send the info to my work email? I will be able to access that until my visa expires right?”

“That is correct. I will send it there. Safe travels and thank you for all of your hard work with us.”

“Of course, and thank you for being a good captain and a good man to work with.” You ended the call before he could think to question the sentence.

A call to the cab company came next. With the car ordered you left a voicemail for your landlord telling him the same information, family emergency feel free to rent the flat out now. It was a furnished option so nothing here that held an emotional attachment would fit in your suitcase.

The only thing you left behind was a framed photo of you standing with all the guys at a party face down on the table. Anything else you weren’t taking got bagged and sent to the bins.

You cried at the airport, and on the plane, and waiting for your sibling to come and save you from the airport. Telling someone that you had been coming would have been smart, but the only goal was to escape. When they arrived Ash gave you the biggest hug which started your crying all over again. You stayed with them and their partner as you tried to piece your life back together.

Taking the month you still received pay from England you walked the trails of the mountains you called home. They brought you so much peace, like hiding in the skirts of a trusted mother. When you reestablished care with your midwives you found out that your arm implant birth control needed changing, it was overdue. Standard procedure for a well-woman check included peeing in a cup.

“Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

The thin nurse midwife with wrinkles, a long dusty brown braid, and beaded necklaces ringing her neck looked at you from the computer. You must have gone white as a sheet because she reacted by having you lay on the floor, elevating your feet, and calling for assistance. Your uterus had been achy. That’s why you scheduled the appointment.

Pregnant? You weren’t nauseous or overly emotional, only a little tired and achy. This was nothing like being pregnant on TV.

Fuck. That meant Johnny or Simon had to be the father.

Did you even want to keep this pregnancy?

Another nurse with a kind face joined you and your nurse in the room, dragging in a portable ultrasound machine.

“Hi dear, this is a bit of standard procedure. There are a few reasons that a pregnancy test can pop positive. We want to rule out some of the harder-to-care-for options. Do you think we can help you stand and get on the bed?”

At your nod the nice nurses helped you to your feet and held on as you climbed onto the bed, laying back. They had you move your shirt and your pants and undies until the top of your pubes were visible. A grainy image appeared on the screen as the nurse glided the probe to and fro in the slimy gel.

“Alright, this here,” she pointed to a roundish object, “is your left ovary. That looks good. This will help me find your uterus.”

She slid down pressing slightly harder into you.

“Here is your uterus and there looks like one, two little embryos.” She pointed with her finger at each little dot.

“Twins?” you whisper, shocked and aghast.

“That’s what it looks like but things this early can change.” She slid the wand further, “Since we are here I am going to check out your right ovary as well and then we will get you cleaned up and discuss your options.”

The options included waiting, keeping, or a self-managed abortion which included a few prescriptions. They gave you a page of information for each option and sent you on your way with a follow-up appointment scheduled for a few weeks.

In shock, you called your best friend first. Larsen had become your best friend in the second grade and you two had stuck it out through thick and thin.

You told him everything. The entire story. No one else knew everything that had happened. Now Larsen did.

He offered to marry you.

You knew he was good for it. Larsen had never fallen in love, found the idea repulsive. The love you and he held for each other was deep and special, but not romantic. Marriage to Larsen would provide safety and stability, and the ability to change your name before Johnny or Simon could think to look for you. Even if you lost the pregnancy Larsen would be the best roommate and friend you could think of sharing this journey with.

“Yes, but let’s talk this over at dinner.”

The wedding had been a week later in front of a judge, with Ash as your witness and his mother as his.

Larsen never pressured you to make a decision about your pregnancy, simply talked through each option with you again and again until you decided you wanted to keep this gift. Simon and Johnny might have treated you as if they were evil but at least you stole something good from them in the process.

You had two boys growing inside you. To the growing delight of the specialty pregnancy team, you were a rare case of two separate fertilization babies. Distinct sacks and placentas meant two independent babies. Baby A was three weeks further in growth and development than baby B. This idea was confirmed when both boys arrived and looked nothing alike even covered in vernix.

Larsen had chuckled and chided the nurses in the halls for the odd looks you and the boys got. You had five amazing years with Larsen before he died of an aneurysm at work. He left you with a boatload of life insurance and two four-year-old boys who had just lost the only father they had ever known.

The boys knew Larsen didn’t help create them but they were so small it didn’t matter. He was their dad. The first thing you did after picking yourself up off the hospital chair was call and set up therapy for yourself and the boys. You would all need it.

Another two years passed, the boys started kindergarten and you started a cake decorating business from the house Larsen had bought you. You had paid it off with a portion of his death benefits. Everything was looking up. Despite the boys sometimes looking exactly like their genetic fathers, they were the most amazing thing in your life. Life was looking up until the house the bus stopped at went up for sale. Your neighbors mentioned an attractive-looking gay couple bought it and wouldn’t you know they had the best accents? One rang of rainy England and the other of Scotland. They were retired military and were excited for the change of pace this life would bring.

Nope, had to be a coincidence. Couldn’t be them. Why would they move to the States? Why your state of all places? No. Couldn’t be Simon and Johnny, you were still safe from their reach.

Except you weren’t.

They followed the boys home one day from the bus, shocked at seeing a child who looked so much like themselves. When you opened the door, royal icing dried to your cheek, you blanched and slammed the door shut slamming the deadbolt home.

The men that haunted your therapy sessions and the aches of your heart had found you. You and their boys.

Part 2

Masterlist | Secrets Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson #captain john price #ghoap x reader #ghoap x you

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holybibly · 1 year ago

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ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 |𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔫 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯| 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ

♡ Pairing: Best friends Woosan x reader ♡ Genre: smut, f2l!au, college!au ♡ Word Count: 6.6k ♡ Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted. 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ ♡ WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more. ♡A/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself. I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

One year ago.

It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.

You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.

Dance, baby, dance!

The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.

You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.

How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutes—or was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?

You can't remember at all.

Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.

Man, you felt so good.

In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourself—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide.

At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.

Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.

It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.

You have no idea what you would do without these two.

A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.

You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.

You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.

"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling.

You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.

You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them

"Mmm… Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.

"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.

The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cry…

Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.

Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:

"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.

San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.

"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.

He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.

Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.

"But I don't want to…" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.

"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."

Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.

A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.

"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?

"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before.

The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.

San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.

But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.

"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."

My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside.

Fuck.

All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.

You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.

Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.

"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of them—a dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their heads…

You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.

"I love you guys…" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.

"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves you—much more than a friend should.

"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds.

"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."

He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.

The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.

As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.

Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.

"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left. "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm… fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."

"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.

You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.

The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been in—it's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bones—sharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn together—it's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.

You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messy—a bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstick—and in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.

Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.

It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?

"Chagi, are you okay?"

You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.

"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.

"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."

He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.

"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."

"Alright."

You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.

Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of them—what their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.

For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.

But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.

There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.

You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.

"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.

The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.

Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.

"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.

"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."

"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.

You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so much—just being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingers—that you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.

Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.

"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.

"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.

Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.

You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right now—a mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.

In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.

You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.

"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.

"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?

He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.

"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."

"Have I told you I love you?"

"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.

"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom.

"We love you too; we love you so much."

If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.

San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.

"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you.

Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.

"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.

"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"

"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."

"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.

"Wooyoung!"

"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.

"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."

"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.

"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.

"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."

"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.

"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.

"In your dreams."

For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongue—heavy, but so damned sweet.

"I wanna… I mean, let's have threesome."

"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"

"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if… if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."

"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."

"Wooyoung, I'm serious."

You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.

"San…"

"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."

"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."

You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.

"But chagi…" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.

"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.

You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.

You are going to have a very funny year in front of you. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ❧ ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 | 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ

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magicdustsworld · 5 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Returning home via a road trip sounded good until your car had to run out of gas. With little choices and a lot of compromises, you and your boyfriend decided to crash in a cheap motel for one night. It wasn't your fault that things got a little heated. No one will know, right? Right?

Tropes: Explicit smut, not an established relationship

Warnings: Profanity, fingering, nipple play, protected sex (not b/w main leads), voyeurism, masturbation, ejaculation, nonconsensual videography, implications of blackmail, modern AU, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 2.8k

Event: my work for @/levievent under the prompt of day 2 - voyeurism.

A/N: Will be posting on Ao3 soon + I only have two hours before I actually have to wake up for school hjshjs bye gotta go sleep! Hope you enjoy <3

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

Five? Six? Or has it been Seven?

The humid breeze wisped through your hair as your boyfriend drove down the highway. You perched your elbow over the window ledge, face nestled into your palm as you absentmindedly drummed your fingers over your cheekbone. You checked your watch – 16:27. Time seemed to crawl, dragging itself and so did it drag your irritation which ascended like a straight line graph. The scowl played on your lips and you didn’t bother hiding it from your partner. Least interested. Why should you even do that in the first place? He was the reason for it, after all.

The car revved through the forlorn road, occasionally you’d get a glimpse of a shepherd or two as they returned to their homes with their flock of sheep. Given, the sun was setting down, coating the very grasslands and farms with its hues, the mild heat burnt your skin yet it wasn’t anything too sharp. Rather it was proving to be your solace from the palpable tension strewing in the vehicle.

“Just an hour more,” His voice reached your ears over the buzzing of the radio. “We’ll reach there before you know it.”

You merely hummed at that, keeping your attention strictly on the sprawling grasslands that stretched miles over the horizon.

However, your lack of response caused him to let out a frustrated groan, “How long are you going to keep up that bitchy attitude?”

“As long as I want.”

Obviously, he didn’t take that kindly-vexation flaring in his veins. “For Fuck’s sake,” He cursed. “What are you even so god damn upset about? I said we’ll be in Paradis soon enough.”

“I don’t know, Eren.” You snapped back. “Maybe it’s because we would’ve been in Paradis by now if you weren’t fucking reckless.”

“Me? I was reckless?” He scoffed, voice dripping with disdain. “We had to start off an hour late because of you and now you have the fucking audacity to put the fucking blame on me?”

“You didn’t have to breach the speed limit for that. Was it fun to get stuck in the station for two hours? And a ticket on top of that?” You rolled your eyes. “Buy one get one free, how delightful!”

“That’d only be a case of five minutes if the officers weren’t-”

“Don’t you dare start with your speech on our miserable government now, it pisses me off.”

Green eyes blazed with fury as he glared at you and you glared back with an equal fervour. The staring contest only served to heighten the chasm of agitation that dripped from you both. Until, both of you broke it off with a derisive huff-turning your individual attentions away from each other.

Spending a week in Marley with your boyfriend had been lucrative. Considering you were able to catch up with a few of your friends during the, albeit short vacation had you more jubilant than ever until... this day. Returning to Paradis via a road trip sounded good, exciting even, until it was put to practice. With each atrocious situations both of you found yourself in since the break of dawn, only made this journey unbearable.

Ten minutes further into the drive, the revving of the car engine was the only sound that cut through the cold war; until that happened to be a distant memory. The vehicle slowed down gradually, friction and the coarse road causing it to sputter and eventually come to halt on the desolate road.

You blinked. So did Eren. A second passed in silence until he spoke.

“Out of gas.”

A smile stretched on your lips, “Perfect.”

Amidst the darkened night sky, the neon red name of the motel stood out – The Ackerman’s.

After the car had ran out of gas, both of you had to walk three kilometres in the highway until reaching a site where at least civilized humans resided. You and Eren for the first time today, could agree that being stranded in the middle of nowhere would be more precarious than it showed itself to be. Besides, both of you had taken the highway which crossed the farmlands. Hardly any car would drive by that can offer both of you a lift and asking help from the locals was out of the question. Neither of you were psychics to know who might harbour ill intentions and who wouldn’t. Left with little options, a quick google search had you aware of a cheap motel only kilometres away. With a three point five star rating, it seemed to be a decent place to crash in for just a night.

Entering the motel, you were greeted with a small lobby comprising of a reception desk, a staircase which presumably was for the rooms above, and a door which had a hanging sign of staff only. The carpet underneath your boots appeared thin and frayed on the edges. Desk made of cheap laminate, an old computer rested on it with a file and a few pen stocked in a holder. Although, an air of loneliness surrounded the area, you couldn’t help but find how all of it was unbelievably clean.

“No one’s here?” Eren questioned, walking over to the reception desk – eyes searching for any semblance of life.

You sighed, stretching your arms and twisting your torso to get rid of all the pent up tension. “Seems so.”

“Seems not.”

On cue, a grave voice reached your ears. Rotating on your heels, you encountered him—a man who appeared a few years older. Dark hair styled in an undercut with bangs cascading over his forehead, sharp features and a poker look marked his mien. He held a teacup, quite literally on his fingertips, eyes lingering on you for a second before he strolled over to the reception.

The brief moment when he side past you, had you keenly aware of two facts. First, he’s shorter than an average man. Second, he’s hotter than an average man.

He plopped himself on the chair across the desk, keeping his tea cup down. Turning on the computer, he asked, “Room for two?”

“Room for two.” Eren answered.

He kept his eyes on the screen, the clicks of the mouse reverberating. “Night or hours?”

Eren blinked. “What?”

“Charges.” He clarified. “Should I charge you by a night or hour?”

“What’s the difference?”

“15 dollars for an hour each and 150 for a night.”

You could see how Eren’s lips twisted into a frown as if both the prices hurt his soul on a personal level. After a moment of contemplation, he answered, “One night.”

The man nodded, continuing the process of registration. After a five minute delay which consisted of filling in details such as name, phone number and asking for ID, Eren received the key. Opening a file, he pointed to the bottom right corner, “Sign it.” Eren complied without much of a thought. After he was done, the man’s eyes flickered to you. “You too.”

Therefore, you complied too.

The room was far from ideal.

A makeshift double bed with a nightstand, two chairs for lounging, a box TV, and an attached bathroom which you didn’t bother to check. The walls were dull yet a flair of lime scented disinfectant lingered in the air proving the room to have been recently cleaned. Honestly, with the amount the man down the reception was charging, this was literally the bare minimum. Or maybe not.

“I should’ve asked him if he had any spare gas.” Eren grumbled, pushing your bags to one corner of the room.

“Tomorrow you can,” You muttered, taking off your socks as you hummed the music of a distant song softly. Not letting yourself ponder on the negativities as much, you laid down on the bed. Enough had happened today, you didn’t need a reminder or to know any more what ifs of the situation. A sign of utter relief left your lips as soon as your body made contact with the sheets. Achieving one night’s peace in this atrocity is more than enough.

Eren, however, had other plans in mind.

Like you, he made himself comfortable on the bed as well.

“Did that bitch finally get off your shoulders?”

That caused a twist of your lips, “Nope, she’s still here.”

“Sure.” His deep voice rang in your ears and you were painfully aware of your proximity. “Wonder how she’s going to get off then?”

“Well, I don’t know,” You mused, turning your body towards him. His turquoise eyes sparkled with an underlying idea for the situation. An idea you loved. A ghost of a smirk curved on the corner of his lips and you didn’t deter from trailing your well-manicured nail down his chiselled jaw. “You tell me.”

The suggestiveness of the act didn’t elude him.

A second later, both of you were locking lips.

Levi hated his job.

No, he wasn’t a god damn receptionist. He was the owner of this motel – a legacy or more like a burden passed to him by his only, late relative, Kenny. And shitty Kenny had some fucked up fantasies swivelling in his head and that’s why he just happened to put up CCTV in the rooms. That was enough for him to lose any sort of respect he harboured for the man until he the reasons for his relatives depravity was laid bare before him.

The story goes like this:

Apparently, his uncle had some pals from the secret police department of Paradis and those fuckers were tracking some hefty politician who went by the name of Rod Reiss. The latter was responsible for smuggling armament and carbines to Marley – the information to the police forces by one of the members of his smuggle party. The catch? Arresting Rod wasn’t a child’s play. From the vague news, the police were sure of one thing – the deals happened in low and cheap motels like these. Hence, to catch the bastard red handed, the forces reached out to Kenny who was the, then owner, of this motel. Kenny was more than ready to get his hands dirty as if he got a thrill out of expeditions such. Ensuing miniscule cameras in the few rooms had done the job. Of course, Rod was arrested. Of course, Kenny spat on his face.

Of course, Levi was annoyed to hell when he first encountered footages he didn’t wish to encounter.

Nevertheless, that tale had unfolded long ago and Kenny hadn’t got rid of the cameras. As for Levi, he was least bothered to what happened in the rooms. Therefore, he didn’t deactivate them either.

Never will the devices prove useful to Levi. Or so he thought.

Barely dressed in a pair of black lingerie, the thin material did little to contain your perky breasts and your hardened nipples poked the fabric as Eren palmed you through your underwear. You breathily moaned while his mouth was pressed on yours in a heated kiss.

Levi’s fingers twinged ever so slightly as he watched the open pornopraphy on his personal computer screen. In the privacy of his room, he wasn’t doing very good breaching his customer’s privacy. Well, he could care less about that. In his defence, he couldn’t help his cock from straining in his briefs when the straps of your bra slid down your shoulders revealing a tantalizing pair of tits. Throat began to dry up as soon as your boyfriend pulled down you’re the last garment on your body.

Slick ran down your pussy, and Eren wasted no second in plunging two of his fingers inside your soaking cunt. Your back arched almost involuntarily, the need to feel any sort of friction increasing by second. He curled his digits inside you, velvet walls clamping at the intruder and the lubrication only made it easier for him to twist and toy with your needy cunt.

It was as if Levi’s body had a mind on its own as the next event unfolded. Spreading his legs wide, he reached down to grasp the painful bulge. That provided little relief. He bet you tasted just as much intoxicating akin to the whiff of your perfume he caught – the first thing he noticed about you.

Eren bend down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue on the areolas while he fondled with the other tit. His touch igniting a hoard of sensations on your body as your toes curled with your head thrown back. He rubbed circles over your clit, the ridges of his knuckled brushed against your pussy lips making it almost impossible for you to keep your voice low.

Shit! Unbuckling his belt, Levi pulled down his briefs – freeing his cock from cage. He grasped it by the base, blood rushing in the veins pulsated against the creases of his palm. “Ah- fuck!” He cursed under his breath, already feeling the precum ooze from his tip.

A sinfully loud whine left your mouth as Eren retracted his finger from your dripping folds. You buckled your hips, trying to press your legs together for the just any amount of touch but he managed to keep your legs spread wide for him.

“Patience baby,” Eren smirked, discarding his briefs as he pushed you further on the bed. Grabbing a condom from his trousers, he tore it open with his teeth before putting it over his length. He spat into his hands, pumping his entire length a few times before positioning himself on your entrance, “Ready baby?”

You nodded and he shoved himself inside you.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Levi cursed out loud, stroking his entire length with an intensity and fervour even unseen by him. The hormones flowed in his veins ceremoniously and violent, a sheen of sweat was forming over his forehead, some dripping to his cheeks from his bangs. His mouth was wide open as he watched the erotegenic display between you and your boyfriend. His swollen cock rested against his hand which was busy in providing it with its much needed gratification. He could hear your wanton moans from his earphones; each moan of yours incited a groan from him.

Your legs quivered as Eren placed your limbs over his shoulders, causing him to reach deeper inside your cavern. His tip rubbed against your g-spot and you rolled your eyes back, the orgasm building up with each of his heavenly thrusts as he swayed your body like a sex doll. Your perky breasts jostled with each thrust of his hips, sweat glistening over the skin while he continued to grind his hips against yours. Quite literally. He wasn’t even pulling out at one point just setting a pace to create a narrow friction and he continued to sputter absolute filth down your ears.

The live porn only coaxed Levi into building his orgasm as he stroked his cock quicker than the last time. Vehemently, he circled his thumb over the swollen tip – almost crying out loud at the sudden increase of pleasure shooting in his abdomens. He gritted his teeth while he watched just how you were digging your nails on Eren’s back, chanting his name like a mantra. You were just being fucked stupid on screen and he was rendering himself stupid while he fist fucked his shaft.

Eren reached down to pinch your enlarged clit and that was all it took – you yelled his name, so loud so clear that someone can just hear you if they listen close enough. The pleasure washed over you like a tide while you squeezed your eyes shut letting the orgasm wear off. Eren continued to grind into you following suit as he burst his seed inside the sheath before pulling out of you.

As for Levi, he was sure he could hear your shriek down to his room even without the headphones. He threw his head back, eyes squinting shut as he felt himself reaching his climax – coating his fingers with his hot release. From the ear piece he could hear the muffled conversations and ragged breathing between you and your boy toy. After giving himself a minute of rest, he detached the cord of his computer from the point. Looking down at the mess he created, a disgustful scowl made itself etch on his mien.

He clicked his tongue, “Fuck! I am filthy.”

Fortunately, Eren was able to get some spare gas from the man in the reception. It may only be a trick of mind but did the latter rest his eyes on you more than a second longer?

Nevertheless, you reached home safely.

Six days later, you received a parcel.

A small brown cardboard box, precisely taped and packed when it reached your door. Unknown sender. You were contemplating that if you had received someone else’s parcel. However, curiosity got the best of you and opening the package, you were greeted with a black pendrive.

Plugging it in your laptop, you clicked the only video file it had.

One minute in the said video and your blood ran cold.

Two minutes in the said video and you were hysterically crying.

Completed with the said video, a text popped up.

Thank you for spending one night at the Ackerman’s.

See you soon.

#magic!writes #levimonth24 #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #levi fanfiction

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senseichaos · 11 months ago

Text

VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL

I'm crazy, but so are you,

I'm crazy, but you are too

Summary: Alastor surprises you with a Valentine's gift, causing you both to find out things about each other that would bring you closer than ever before

Genre: Romance, Angst

Warnings: Sexual themes, Angst, hurt slight comfort, psychopathic Alastor, implied sadism, self deprecation, talk of murder, let me know if you see any more!

NOT PROOF READ (YET)

Let me know your thoughts!

(tried to do my iconic 3 image banner but tumblr's formatting broke so it didn't work..)

"My fawn, I have a surprise for you!"

You look up from your book, face lighting up as you place the book onto the couch next to you. Currently you were just reading a book in the hotel lobby, mostly alone in the area save for husk cleaning the bar as usual. Niffty is currently fixing some windows that had been broken, Sir Pentious is in his room doing god knows what, Vaggie and Charlie are out getting dinner, and Angel is at work. Which leaves you.

"Hm? Really?!" You ask, not expecting a gesture from Alastor on Valentine's day. Alastor grins, reaching his hand out for you to take which you do politely. In an unexpected movement Alastor pulls you lightly so you come close to him, placing a hand onto the small of your back as he gives you a proud gaze.

"Yes my fawn, it's valentines day is it not? Come,"

Alastor leads you up the stairs, taking you to his room one one of the higher floors of the hotel. This is all a surprise to you, really. You'd never expected Alastor to get you something for Valentine's! Let alone a surprise. You can't hold that excitement inside of you at the fact that Alastor is going to surprise you with something! You practically buzz with excitement when Alastor leads you down the hall, looking up at him as you fiddle with the side of his overcoat.

"What is it, what is it!!" You ask with excitement, bouncing on your feet as Alastor settles in front of the door to his room, not yet opening it. Alastor laughs, adjusting his monocle and shaking his head.

"Patience, dear! Have I taught you nothing?" He utters with a grin, fixing his coat after you had meddled with it.

"I'm allowed to be excited Alastor!" You pout, folding your arms as Alastor rests his hand against the wall. He gives you a humorous gaze, laughing at your words with a grin.

"You are, fawn. But there is a difference between patience and greed~" He purrs, pressing hks microphone to your chin, tilting it up a tad; scowling at this action, you grab the top of his microphone and push it back to his chest. Alastor's lower lids rise.

"I am not greedy! You've never surprised me before..." You frown, looking at the ground beneath you. It wasn't wrong, at least you don't think. Alastor has never really given you a huge surprise like this before.

Alastor takes a step forward, hooking his finger beneath the leather of your collar.

"Now that is a lie. I surprised you just last week with this beautiful collar," Alastor speaks, pulling his finger away from your neck, dragging his claw down the column of your throat as he goes. You can't help but lean into that brief touch, flicking your eyes back into his as he stares at you with an odd adoration.

"I guess that's true.." You mutter, itching the side of your neck as you take your eyes from his own again. You instead look at the wall, focusing on the deteriorating wallpaper. Though you feel Alastor's claw press against your jaw, tilting your face back towards his own

"You guess? But it is true, my dear. I think you forget that I love you just as you love me," He says lowly, leaning in closer to your own smaller, meeker figure. You can't help but shrink backwards, feeling that odd fear buzz through your cold sinner veins.

"Do you really?" You ask, eyes blown as you stare. He chuckles, kissing your forehead and pulling away, leaving your skin burning on the area he kissed. Alastor quickly and deftly places his fingers onto the the doornob, twisting it with a neat skill. The skill of a man with property, you could describe.

"Hm, does this prove my point?" Alastor asks, pushing you into the room by the tip of his microphone staff.

You gasp, looking at the room. His room has a nice, neatly set table in the middle of his forest backdrop, which has cups of coffee and crumpets on it, along with some of your favorite sweet treats that make you drool to even look at. There's even a beautiful bouquet of dried roses set in the middle just near the edge of the table, meaning you can see Alastor completely when you eat.

"Oh my gosh! Alastor, this is.." You clasp your hands over your mouth, tears welling up in your vision as your heart swells from the pure kindness of the action. You watch as Alastor waltzes in front of you, prideful of his actions.

"And you say I don't know you.. I have your favorite music, your favorite food, your favorite drinks anddd" Alastor outstretched his hand, standing in front of the table completely with that grin of his that makes you melt. "Your favorite radio demon~!" He sing songs, causing you to laugh, running up to him and hugging yourself into his arms.

Though often you don't hug Alastor, but it's in these moments where he welcomes it that you value. He always hugs you warmly, as if his whole body is enveloping you in a swaddle. You feel small in his arms, almost like a baby.

You nuzzle yourself into his chest mumbling:

"Oh thank you Alastor this is so.. thoughtful. I didn't think you were capable of such a thing," You giggle, looking up at him with teary eyes as those butterflies swarm inside of you. That way he looks at you is so soft, before he laughs, tangling his fingers into your hair and pulling very lightly.

"Now don't ruin the moment, my fawn. It impolite," Alastor chastises, giving you that sadistic look that makes you fall to your knees and take what's given. Those dark eyes, that tight grip, that sharp smile, those piercing teeth. You bite your lower lip, laughing with a flustered blush as you push his hand away.

"Sorry Al' I just.. this is incredible! I'm so excited! I can hardly hold in my squeals," You squeak, jumping very slightly on your toes. Chuckling, Alastor folds his hands behind his back, though not before resting his staff at the side of the table. "Squeal all you want, my dear! You make a lot of noise anyway," He says with a lascivious smirk, leaning down to your level just to get a good look of your scowl and humor it as he feels necessary.

"Ew Alastor! I don't wanna squeal anymore.. but- EEEEEEE!" You squeal, flapping your arms with joy as Alastor sits himself down at the table. What you don't expect is for Alastors green magic to circle around your waist, effectively picking you up and placing you on your chair. He ignores your frightened squeak and flinch at this, instead leaning forward and resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

"C'mon my dear, the coffee should be the perfect temperature!" He utters, nodding his head towards the cup of coffee at your side of the table. You nod, taking a small sip of the sweet coffee. Sweet? That's new. Alastor doesn't like sweet things.. which makes it all more surprising that he's given you sweet things.

"Oh actually! It's not huge but i did get you something," You interrupt your thought, remembering the Valentine's gift you had found on the streets of hell weeks ago. Alastor smiles wider, not expecting you to get him something in return. He feels gratitude that you did, though, not often does he get gifts.

"Hm? You did? How sweet of you, my fawn!" Alastor asks brightly, watching as you twist your body to grab something from your back pocket. What he doesn't expect is for you to pull out a light gray feather, a very slight shimmer against its surface. It almost looks like the feather of an angel with it's heavenly sheen.

"I found it on the street a couple weeks ago whilst on my outing, it's an exorcist feather!" You exclaim, passing it towards him with a proud smile. Taking it in his fingers, he examined it with a soft but peaceful smile, taking in every piece of it before smiling brighter.

"Ooh~ now this is a thoughtful gift!" He says, opening his mouth and placing it into his mouth, tasting it. He slowly drags it out, trailing his tongue around its entirety to taste every part of it. You give him a disgusted look, peering at him through your lashes before pulling it from him. Or at least attempting to, he pulls it away before you have a chance to reach it.

"Ew Alastor don't taste it! You don't know where that's been!" You scold, taking another sio of your coffee. Alastor holds it in his hand, tasting a little bit more of it by placing his red tongue against it kn random spots. You give him an exaggerated gag, causing him to finally pull it away with upturned, happy eyes.

"It's tasty, dear! Is that not part of the gift? A beautiful feather of an angel and the tasty remnants of death! I can't think of anything more delicious~" He pauses, lowering his lids seductively. "Besides from my fawn, of course.." He purrs, causing you to flush before swatting his hands.

"Alastor! That's gross...!" You exclaim, taking an aggressive bite from your (extremely delicious) crumpet. You almost forget that you're supposed to be mad before Alastor's condescending laugh rings in your ears, causing you to look back up at him with down turned brows.

"Oh come on dear, I know you just love it when I'm dirty!" Alastor says with a teasing gaze, before leaning forward and attempting to kiss you. You quickly move your head away, causing him to give you a short peck on the corner of your lips. When he pulls away, he seems proud, almost greedy with his affection.

"You just tasted an exorcist feather and you think I want you to kiss me with the same mouth, ew!" Alastor hums at your words, tilting his head.

"I guess you just don't like the flavour the same way as me," He says, taking a sip of his black coffee. Alastor can't stand sweetness, that's for sure. But it does still surprise you that he has a crumpet and a slice of your favorite cake Infront of him.

"Okay fine.." You sigh, leaning forward to invite Alastor into a kiss. He grins, clasping his hand onto your cheek and leaning forward, purring: "Lovely!"

Finally he presses his lips onto yours, quite literally immediately forcing his tongue past your lips. You moan surprised at this, gagging as he presses his tongue to the back of your throat - definitely on purpose - though you don't pull away. Alastor doesn't kiss you often, and that's a fact. So this moment, despite being uncomfortable with his sadistic ways is still powerful and makes your gut rearrange. The way he digs his claws into the back of your neck, twisting your head slightly so he can kiss you deeper, effectively taking away your breath. But you don't care if he suffocates you. You don't care if he kills you. Right now all you want is for him to continue massaging his lips against your own.

Or that was until he finally pulled away, licking a stray piece of saliva from his lip. You finally snap from your daze, flushing deeply and wiping your wet lips.

"Are you done?" You ask, taking a short sip of your coffee in an attempt to calm your fiery veins down. Alastor chuckles, taking a bite from his crumpet and only slightly flinching from the sweet flavour.

"Yes my dear, a kiss cannot last forever." He says, leaning his head against the back of his hand. Nodding, you bite your lower lip, finding something to say to take your mind from that intense kiss.

"So what are you gonna do with the feather?" You ask rather abruptly, chanting the subject with a swift execution of words. Alastor could detect as such, but he choses not to point it out to save your dignity. Instead he nods, twirling the feather between his fingers before speaking.

"Hmm, I will most likely place it at my bedside." He pauses, grinning and looking back up at you. "What do you plan to do with these hours of fun with yours truly? He asks, taking a neat sip from his black coffee. You can't understand how he drinks the stuff, being so strong and bitter. You can only have it sweet.

"I just want to talk with you, Al'. I don't remember the last time we just got to sit and.." Your words slowly jumble off into nothing's, realizing that you're rambling. Though when you look up into Alastor's eyes he doesn't seem annoyed, hell he even looks as though he's hanging off your every word with deep enjoyment. "Talk." You finish, pointed with your words as they drip from your tongue.

"Really, because I recall sitting down and having tea just last week," Alastor recalls, tapping his chin in mock-thought. You shake your head, taking a long sip from your coffee. "No I mean, I don't remember the last time we did something just for us. Just a moment where it's- just unbridled conversation between lovers for hours.." You utter, twiddling your fingers together as a pang of anxiety hits your gut. You swallow it down, not wishing to show your anxiety to your partner.

"Hm, I guess you are correct with one thing. We haven't done anything just for us in a while," Alastor answers, shrugging his shoulders as he looks down at the food in front of him. He seems content, cozy even. You don't often see him at such peace.. and you want him to be at such peace more often- hell you want to be at such peace more often.

"Doesn't it make you sad.. sad that we don't just have time for us?" You ask rather suddenly, looking up at him as he places his feather into his coat pocket. He lowers his lids, tilting his head softly as he speaks with a buttery tone: "Whatever do you mean?" Alastor asks, leaning his cheek on the back of his hand dreamily.

You sigh. "I mean.. doesn't it make you wish we could just be together for hours.. spend a whole day, even! Just us, laying in bed.. dancing to music, having tea.. cooking! Anything.. I just want to feel more connected to you sometimes.." You utter with a soft-spoken tone. Alastor almost seems sympathetic, hell empathetic for a moment. But he isn't, you can tell... But even still he leans forward, that smile across his face as he speaks with such an odd tone.

"Now now, dear. If you wanted a day like this why didn't you just say? Why leave it to the time we are supposed to be laughing and having fun?" Alastor asks, shaking his head softly as he moves his hands as to accentuate his words. You shrink into yourself in realization that all this time you felt a lack of deep connection with him you could have.. told him.

"I-I don't know I guess I just.. I only realize how much I need time like that now, when I have it.." You mumble, rubbing your palm across your eye before picking up the thin fork next to your sweet cake, wishing to take a bite to make you feel less sad. Though Alastor just smiles wider, giving you a soft look with his red intimidating eyes.

"Now why worry about the future when you have what you want right now? I promise you that spending time in the now will make this much more productive and enjoyable," Alastor says with such power, pulling at your strings to make your emotions mold to what he wishes. Though he isn't wrong, even with that later of manipulation with his tone. It is best to let this moment happen without worrying about the future.

"I guess you're right, Alastor." You finally say after a pregnant pause. Alastor chuckles to himself, watching as you take a joyful bite of your cake. After tasting it's sweet flavour you practically buzz with happiness, squeaking to yourself. "Thank you, my fawn."

You finish your happy 'squeeming', laughing softly at Alastor's words. "It wasn't really a compliment, but take it how you will." You say with a shrug, diving into another forkful of the delicious cake.

"You know," Alastor says suddenly, a grin churning on his face. You look up from your cake from big eyes, swallowing your mouthful of cake.

"Hm?"

"I recall this memory from my childhood sometimes when I'm with you, this memory from my childhood that is more pleasant than any other," Alastor begins, looking up at the sky-like roof above in thought and rumination as he speaks. Yet you hang into every word, leaning forward in your chair with such infatuation; You wish you were nestled in your lap to take in every huff of his breath as he tells his story.

"I was sitting beneath this tree reading a book my school had demanded me to read, for a project of some sorts. But the book was actually rather interesting! It spoke of love and loss, and it gave me this odd comfort," Alastor tells, Almost painting a picture with his hands as he describes the story to you. He moves his hands with every word that he annunciates, making everything he says seem even more rich and delightful for your brain as he goes on.

"It was like it was telling me that no matter what I do in my life, one day I will get this feeling again. And now, well now when I'm with you I get that odd feeling of comfort." He finishes, folding his hands in his lap as he watches your dumbfounded expression. He can't help but smirk.

"Alastor.. that's the most you've ever told me about your life on earth." You say with such a grin, kicking your legs in your chair with cheer. Alastor taps his pointer finger against his chin in a thinking moment before shrugging, giving you a sly smile. "Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it?" He asks, those buttery eyes of his low lidded. You bite your lower lip, poking your fork into your cake.

"You aren't lying are you? Please tell me this isn't a joke.." You beg, taking a piece from the cake with your dainty fork. You don't eat it, though, instead holding it at the end of the fork as you speak. "Why would I joke to my love about something like this?" Alastor asks, watching your body as your heart sits tremulous inside of your chest.

You look at the ground "I don't know, this whole thing it just doesn't feel real to me. And this- this childhood memory of yours.. I feel like I'm going to explode with happiness." You finish your sentence with a large almost painful grin, before dropping it down into a rather small smile. Alastor hums, poking his dainty fork into a piece of his own cake.

"Is that not good, my dear?" Alastor asks before taking a bite of the sickeningly sweet cake, he does make a bit of a face and the flavour, but he eats it all the same. You value that in this moment. Not often does he do something that actively makes him uncomfortable for you, so you feel as though he's sacrificing his life right now. You can't help but think of him as sweet for a small moment.

"It is! it's just.. this is the first I've ever heard of your past," You reply, drawing circles on the table with your hand as the other continuing to hold your fork with the piece of cake at the end. Once again you hear Alastor hum in acknowledgement, watching as he gives you a large unreadable grin.

"Would you like to know more about my past, my dear?"

You blink, biting your lower lip as your heart clenches beneath your rib cage.

"Please," You utter with glassy eyes, set on taking in every second of his story. Alastor replies to your enthusiasm with a chuckle, placing his fork down and clasping his hands together as he leans back onto his chair. He begins to speak, a whimsical propriety in his voice.

"Hm, alright then. You do have to understand that my life on earth may not be the most pleasant of lives," Alastor warns, tapping his foot against the grass beneath absentmindedly. You shake your head, dead set on hearing something more about his life as a person."I don't care."

He grins widely, eyes creasing with its largeness."Lovely, now," He begins, talking with such pride you can't help but sink into every word. "I remember this time, I was I think around my early twenties when I killed my first victim-" You interrupt with wide eyes and a tap of your finger against the table.

"Woah woah woah, why are you staring out with this?" You ask. You completely didn't expect Alastor to start out with his murder. You know that he was a cereal killer as a man, that is for sure- but you didn't expect him to tell you about it.

"Listen my dear, it's impolite to interrupt." Alastor chastises, brows high and nonchalant. You bite your lip, shrinking backwards into your seat. "Sorry Allie."

Alastor's smile grows. "Hm. I had killed this victim in the dead of night, it was an act of self defense I do admit. But, that feeling I got was like no other when his lifeless body laid dormant at my feet," Alastor describes, picking up his staff that he laid at the side of the table. Looking at the staff, Alastor drags his hand against its handle, his eyes dark and reminiscent, almost longing.

"I had this system after that. I would kill one person, eat them, and bury their bones in the forest behind my house. I was very good at giving no trace of myself, to the point where my killing became news that I had to cover on my radio show! How comical is that, hm?" Alastor suddenly perks up, laughing to himself as he finishes talking. He takes a sip of his coffee, one hand places against his staff as he watches you laugh awkwardly.

"I mean you are killing people, so not extremely comical." Alastor laughs again at this, swatting his hand in your direction. You finally take a bite of the cake on your fork, eyes pointed at Alastor as you do so in a judging fashion.

"Oh don't worry about that my dear, I promise if you were alive in my time I wouldn't have killed you. You most likely would have become my wife," His voice lowers as he speaks becoming flirtatious with his tone. At his words anxiety pools at your stomach, causing your skin to ripple into goosebumps; And yet you can't help but crave for more.

"In my life on earth I wouldn't have dated a cereal killer.. " You mumble, looking at the grass below as the goosebumps on your skin begin to fade with that fleeting adrenaline filling fear. But when you look back into those eyes of his, it comes back with a harsh waft. Those dark eyes, they send you into a trance.

"Well what are you doing now then?" He asks, leaning forward on the table with a sly gaze.

"..dating a cereal killer..." You utter guiltily. Alastor reaches across the table, planting his and against yours intimately. You feel tiny electric shocks of love go through you there, making you smile at his clawed fingers as they lay against your wrist. "Exactly, my fawn. Don't assume things about yourself, especially when it is just plain wrong. What have I done to hurt you?" You laugh at this, pulling down the collar of your shirt to reveal a healed bite mark across your shoulder.

"Exhibit A." You announce with a grin.

"Well that was during sex, darling. I wouldn't count that. And also you liked it," Alastor responds, taking your hand into his own. You shiver, feeling his claws draw a line from the bottom of your wrist to the middle of your palm. "Mhm.. touche! It still hurt.. and felt good.." Your words slowly jumble off into nothing, realizing that Alastor, in fact, has never really hurt you.

"Well then I didn't hurt you did I? I promise you I would never go out of my way to hurt you in a way you wouldn't enjoy," Alastor assures, tapping his claws against the bottom of your wrist as he grins.

"I love you, Alastor. I also really appreciate this cause I know you don't like sweet food but you're still eating this with me." Alastor chuckles, leaning over the table to ruffle your hair in a condescending way.

"Anything for my little fawn, hm? Anything I can do to make you smile is mine to give." Alastor says, pointed with his words. There is a confidence to his words, as well. Not that there isn't always but specifically when he said smile. He wants you to smile, and yet he loves to make you scream his name and cry out for him.

He wants to break you. And you let him.

"Can I tell you something about my past?" You ask, looking up as him with teary eyes. Alastor nods, taking another bite of his (now finished) crumpet. "Of course, I'm a very good listener." He replies after swallowing, blinking at you with an extraordinarily endearing gaze. You have to stop yourself from getting flustered.

"I know.." You mumble, fiddling with the sleeves of your coat. Watching with dark eyes, Alastor crosses one leg over the other in his chair, ears perking up at the silence. Sighing, you ready yourself to speak, biting your lower lip before just letting the words flow.

"I never liked anyone my whole life on earth, I mean.. I died early, I know that but still I have never felt any attraction to anyone. Anyone ever." The words come out anxious and almost scared, matching the way your hands shake in a tremulous way. And yet Alastor makes you feel better by laughing, humming at words.

"Ever? How odd, me neither!"

Your eyes widen. Never really asking anything about Alastor, you don't know why you are surprised. You often worry that you annoy him if you ask too many questions, so you guess this is your sign to ask him more.

"What, really?" You gasp, clasping your hands together as you lean towards him with attraction. Alastor just hums in affirmation, taking another reluctant bite from his cake. You think to yourself for a moment, before shaking your head and continuing.

"Well.. anyway. The only feeling I ever got towards anything was this idea of.. being with someone like you. And I know that's crazy, that I would feel attraction to the idea of dating a psycho but the label fit. I'd never changed, even into my 20s when I died I never felt attracted to anything but this personification in my head," You start, flushing deeply as you talk. You don't dare look into Alastor's eyes, too scared to see his reaction to your words. Whilst continuing to speak, however, you find that you don't feel any sort of distaste from his frame. "And I have to admit, that you are the embodiment of the personification in my head to a degree I can't even begin to explain."

Silence flourishes the air for a thin moment, making your throat clog up with regret. And yet to your surprise, you feel one of Alastors claws press at your chin, tilting your head to look at him.

"Why do you tell me this now, dear?" Alastor asks, looking into your teary eyes with an unreadably soft gaze. Your gaze shifts away from him and you bite the inside of your cheek, kicking your legs nervously beneath the table."Because I think that I completely understand why," You mutter, tone strangled as his claw begins to press slightly harder into your skin.

"Why is it, my dear?"

You sob, pulling backwards from his hand so you can shrink into yourself.

"Because I'm crazy! I just know it. All of this, this thing we have- it's all part of my delusional self. I can't love anyone unless I have this feeling like I'm in danger. I need to be on edge to be comfortable and feel this feeling I feel right now.." You cry, breathing beginning to become choked and ugly. Staying silent for a second, you take awful whiny breaths in, calming yourself. Not once do you look up at Alastor.

"I hate myself Alastor.." You utter out, another heap of tears dripping down your cheeks. To your surprise, Alastor is next to you in a flash, gripping your cheeks and making you look up at him. His smile is wide and sadistic and yet his eyes are soft and pseudo-empathetic."Now now my dear, do I look like I'm judging you? I'm crazy as well. We are both just psychopaths with a twisted idea of love." He assures, claws digging into you very slightly as he pulls on your cheeks, forcing you to smile.

"How so..?" You sniffle, pulling his hand from your cheeks. Yet instead Alastor just grips the back of your neck, ensuring that your eyes are on him at all times. He needs your full attention. "I like the idea of pulling on someone's strings and controlling them to submit to my every desire. You like the idea of being controlled and that thrill you get from the danger of it all." He says lowly, voice flowing into your ears with such tremor you can't help but stare at him with an adoration.

"Are you saying we're the same? Because I would never kill anyone.." You say softly, blinking at him. Alastor chuckles, shaking his head at your words. He almost tuts them, really, his chuckle being almost mocking in a way that you can't understand. You can never understand him, never completely. And perhaps that's the way he likes it.

"No no no, my dear. I'm saying that you and I fit perfectly into each other's idea of love. We are similar in those parts of ourselves, and that's what makes us fit so well together, hm?"

Your breath catches in your throat. He's right. He's so right. You are both broken souls that bring out the best you can out of eachother. Nothing will ever be normal with him, and nothing will ever be normal with you. And yet.. and yet your heart beats at such a fast pace you fear your adrenaline will spike through your skin.

"I guess this makes sense.." Is all you say, breathless with your words.

Alastor hums, trailing his hand from the back of your neck down your chest, until it reaches your hand. Pulling you by your hand to your feet, he brings you into a warm addicting hug. You moan into his embrace, shivering with goosebumps as his breath tickles against your ear.

"so do you really love me, really really?" You ask, teary eyed and tired.

"I really, really love you my dear. I'd kill every sinner in hell to keep you." There's a sinister tone to his words, and even yet you value them more than you can admit.

"That means a lot to me , Alastor."

"I'm glad, my fawn."

At peace, for now at least.

#proship #senseichaos #antishippers dni #senseichaosdrabbles #proship fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x reader angst #hazbin hotel angst #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel fanfic

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snowshowerwriting · 3 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 2: Trust issues | Role Reversal

It's 11:59 Wednesday somewhere in the world still...

TW: Post-battle/fight disaster, off screen death, hints towards abusive dynamics

The Villain couldn't breathe. Debris crashed all around them, and the air was filled with dust and ash. It took the villain a few seconds to orient themselves upright again, knees shaking as they stared at the wreckage ahead of them. When the reality set in, their heart sank.

Everything was ruined. The lair was broken and bent beyond recognition. The home they had once shared with friends, with people who were like family to them was gone within seconds. The Villain took one shaky step forward, and then another before breaking out into a run towards where the piles of wall and debris sat.

They kneeled on the rubble and began to dig through it. There was only one thing in their mind right now- to find the Supervillain, to know that he hadn't died. The only sounds were the fragments of brick being tossed to the side and the ringing in the Villain's ears. Although they were calling out for the Supervillain's name, they could barely hear their own voice beyond their panicked thoughts. They couldn't take in a proper breath between heaving sobs.

"Villain!"

Very vaguely, the Villain recognized the voice of the Hero far behind them in the aftermath of the battle. This wasn't supposed to happen, the Hero wasn't supposed to take it this far, and the Supervillain wasn't supposed to be hurt, he wasn't supposed to be dead.

"Villain!" This time, a strong grip had taken hold of their arms and spun them around. Villain's breath hitched as the shock began settling, and the numbness in their hands went away. They hadn't realized how badly their body was scrapped up until the Hero squeezed their hands. Every little mark lit on fire.

"Gods, are you okay? What are you doing there?" The questions were accompanied by gentle hands brushing the villain's bangs back. Villain recoiled at the touch, almost stumbling back at the unsteady ground. "Don't you dare fucking touch me!" The venom in the Villain's voice had caught both the hero and themself by surprise.

The Hero stared at the Villain, confused at first and then they tried to approach the Villain again. The shock had left the Villain now, and anger began brewing anew within their veins. "Don't you dare take another step to me," they seethed. Between the blurred vision and the anger and panic buzzing in their body, the villain didn't notice the hero's expression darken. They didn't notice the change in the hero as the reality of the Supervillain's death settled in. What would they do now? Their home was wrecked and their one true friend was gone and-

The villain was forced to look up, their face being held in the sharp claws of their enemy. They couldn't help the choked-up sob as the Hero kneeled down to meet them on the ground. All the kindness in their eyes disappeared, replaced with the cruelty the villain had seen during the making of this destruction.

"Get yourself together, Ok?" The Hero's voice was low. Quiet, and yet, the Villain could still feel the goosebumps rise on their arms and the hair on the back of their neck rise. They tried to get themselves together, through their trembling hands and relentless tears and all. "You're ok," the hero told them, and the villain could only nod yes. "You'll be fine with me, if not better." The soft voice did nothing to hide the threat.

The Hero's nails dug into their cheeks, a subtle warning before they stood up. "See?" the hero sighed, and rested their hand on the villain's shoulder. "Come on, let's go see the rest of my team. We'll get you back in the base and into the right shape." The villain bit their lips to hold back another outburst and nodded. As the hero led them out of the rubble, they couldn't help but look back. Their home was gone now. What safety existed has been destroyed. Where would they go now?

aaaa not the proudest of this honestly. Maybe I'll rewrite it someday? Anyway, I'm starting to get back into writing after, what? 2 years? This snippet is honestly not the best work but.. hopefully, by the end of October, I develop into a better writer? Idk, we'll find out

#whumptober2024 #no.2 #trust issues #subtle threats #hero x villain #villain whumpee #heroes and villains #writeblr #whump community #hero whumper

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ange1sang · 5 months ago

Text

going under

gallavich/ian x mickey, word count: ~996

summary: the first time mickey tells ian he loves him. ; canon compliant, set seasons 4-5, hurt/comfort, fluff, crying, sex

a/n: here's my contribution for mickey's birthday !!! a day late but i just moved yesterday and fell asleep trying to finish it so </3 here it is !!

Mickey's drowning in Ian. He isn't sure how but he knows he is, every last sense overwhelmed by the redhead above him.

The smell of his skin - soft, clean - and the smell of his cologne - strong, overly masculine - clings to his nostrils. The taste of his spit and sweat, spread over his lips like a thick layer of cheap chapstick. His skin is so hot beneath his palms it feels like he's pressed his hands to a stovetop. His voice buzzes in his ears, every breathy moan and groan and bit back curse word like a shot of adrenaline. And when he focuses his eyes on the face above him, it's like a too-hard hit to the head, the kind that has him thinking he's seeing God.

Ian's beautiful. He'd been gone for so long Mickey'd almost forgotten what it was like getting to see his face. Getting to see his freckles, count every little patch of them like stars in the sky. Getting to grab the back of his neck and pull him close enough that they're breathing the air straight out of each other's lungs.

It reminds Mickey of his very first nicotine high. Veins thrumming, stomach tingling, fingertips trembling. His bottom lip shakes, hands scrambling for purchase. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shut out the dizzying feeling in the back of his head. His hands land on Ian's shoulders, nails digging into the freckles scattered across Ian's right shoulder, leaving behind little red marks that Mickey wishes would stay there forever.

"Gonna cum?" Ian asks, and he asks like he's teasing, but the strain in his voice gives him away. He's probably closer than than Mickey is. If this were a year ago, or even months ago, Mickey would've teased right back, would've poked fun and called Ian one of the dumb nicknames he seems to love so much. But right now his voice ties itself into knots, catches in his chest.

Ian leans down, kisses along his jaw. Open-mouthed and gentle, nudging his nose into Mickey's cheek like he's committing his scent to memory. Ian buries himself deep inside him, rocks his hips and presses as deep into Mickey as he can get. He's groaning through gritted teeth and Mickey could live off of that sound, could spend the rest of his life drowning in it like he's doing right now.

"Gonna cum, Mick," Ian murmurs into his cheek and his voice is so gentle that it rocks Mickey's world. "Want me to jerk you off?"

Mickey tries to nod, tries to do anything less embarrassing than what he can feel his body trying to do. It doesn't work. Ian reaches down between them, and a sob tears itself from Mickey's throat.

"Mick?" Ian asks, pulling back from his cheek to look him in the eyes. Concern shines through when their eyes meet, and it makes Mickey's heart squeeze in his chest. Because Ian's been so absent since he came back, eyes always half-lidded or open too wide, always focused on someone else or not focused at all. He's been so out of it, so drugged up and so fucked out that Mickey isn't sure a single one of his words has gotten through to Ian since he's been back. Ian pauses where he's pressed into Mickey, stops his movements in the middle of cumming even though his arms start to shake where they're holding him up. "Mickey?"

And as much as he'd rather drown, Mickey has to come up for air before he's totally smothered by Ian.

"I love you," he says, voice barely reaching a whisper. Hot, fat tears roll down his temples, and he crosses his arms over his face so Ian won't see them. His chest heaves even as he swallows back another sob. "You asshole. I love you. I thought you weren't coming back."

Ian stays quiet, but his body melts against Mickey, hands sliding down his sides and pulling him into a sweaty, sticky, uncomfortable hug. It's the sweetest way anyone's ever touched Mickey. He cries shallowly, and in doing so breathes in another mouthful of Ian's scent.

"I came back," Ian whispers, and it's all Mickey can do not to smack him upside the head. He settles for punching his shoulder weakly.

"Fuck you," he mutters. Ian's lips press to his temple and turn up to form a small smile as he kisses him there. It reminds Mickey of the smile he gave him when he visited him in juvie for the first time. His heart squeezes so hard in his chest it hurts.

"I love you too," Ian says, lips moving against Mickey's skin. He moves his head just enough to kiss his ear and then the trail of tears on the side of his face. "I love you too."

It sounds so easy when Ian says it, nothing like how the words tore themselves from Mickey seconds ago. It sounds like he was meant to say it. Mickey uncovers his eyes and Ian pulls back to look at him, to really look at him, for the first time since he's been back. He smiles, soft and sweet and freckly and dorky like Ian's been since the first time Mickey saw him, and the clenching in Mickey's chest lets up a little.

"Stay, then," Mickey mumbles, and it sounds pathetic. It's weak. It's like he's pleading. It's the gayest thing he's ever said. He can't find it in him to feel embarrassed or ashamed like he expects to feel.

"Okay," Ian replies, once again like it's the easiest thing he's ever said. He leans in to kiss him and it's like being able to breathe underwater. Mickey breathes him in, runs his fingers through his hair, swallows as much as he can get.

"I love you," he says right into Ian's mouth. It isn't easy this time either but it hurts less. He hopes one day it won't hurt at all.

#shameless #gallavich fic #ian gallagher fluff #mickey milkovich fluff #gallavich fluff #ian x mickey #shameless fic

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silkscream · 3 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 14: HALF RETURN

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

He can’t complain about being touch-starved. Not when he has two kids who were alone for God knows how long.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: graphic depictions of cursed spirits? blood. angst and such

ੈ✩ wc: 6.7k

ੈ✩ a/n: heres a fat chapter for yall you can stop complaining now

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

August, 2009

Gojo Satoru has never felt this powerful before. It should scare him, but his veins are surging with something above human. Gold-lined arteries as bright as the sun above him. The air crackles with energy around him, a visible distortion that warps reality itself. Satoru flexes his fingers, marveling at how the world seems to bend to his will. He can feel every particle, every atom, dancing at his command. He understands now why people would compare him to a God.

He is a fucking God. Nothing could kill him. Nothing could touch him.

He’d woken up in his own blood. Now, he stares, half-mad at the man bleeding in front of him.

“Any last words?”

Fushiguro Toji blinks back at him as if he’d just noticed the boy’s presence. Ah, a boy. Barely twenty with the world in his hands. When Toji was twenty, he was getting lashed by the Zenin elders. He doesn’t have it in him right now to feel bitter. He remembers his own boy, how he shares his eyes, his mean mug.

Blessing, he’d named him.

“In two or three years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan,” Toji drawls.

Satoru raises a brow.

“Do with that what you will.”

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face, Satoru notices. The smallest bend of the scar adorning his mouth. Who smiles at their executioner?

Fushiguro Toji drops to the ground. Satoru only hears the buzz of cicadas and the thumping of his own heart.

Satoru stares at the fallen body, his mind reeling. The power coursing through him begins to ebb, replaced by a creeping unease. He'd expected satisfaction. Vindication. A cussing out, at least. Instead, he feels hollow.

He kneels beside the man’s body, searching for answers in his lifeless face. It’s as if Fushiguro’s face has a permanent hint of a smirk. Either that or Satoru imagines the final act of defiance. Satoru's eyes remain fixed on Toji's lifeless form, his final words echoing in his mind. A child. Sold to the Zenin clan. The implications slowly sink in, piercing through the haze of his newfound power.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his white hair.

The cicadas continue their relentless chorus, indifferent to the life just extinguished. Satoru's gaze drifts to the horizon, where the sun hangs low, painting the sky in hues of orange and red. It reminds him of Suguru, of Riko. Of you. Of promises made and broken.

He closes his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. When he opens them again, resolve hardens his features. He may be a god among men, but he's not above the weight of consequence. Not anymore.

He takes a step back, suddenly aware of the blood on his hands, on his clothes. The metallic scent fills his nostrils, making him nauseous. The world that had bent to his will moments ago now feels oppressively still.

The sun beats down mercilessly, and Satoru realizes he's been standing there for far too long. He needs to move, to report, to do something. But the thought of Toji's child nags at him, an irritating itch he can't scratch.

The summer heat presses down on the boy-god, suffocatingly so. He stands, wiping blood from his hands onto his slacks. The divine feeling from moments ago is distant now. Only human uncertainty lingers.

Satoru has dreams about the human with the scar splitting the side of his lip. It’s always the same — Fushiguro’s final words, his entire side blown to bits from Satoru’s hand. Satoru feels nothing until the man speaks. He always says something different, but it’s more or less the same.

– Any last words?

– Last words? Kid, I've been dead since the day I was born.

– You don't get it, do you? I could unmake you without a thought. I could rewrite reality itself.

– You really are a cocky bastard. What would that prove, huh? That you’re special?

Toji coughs blood onto the ground. It’s a wet, rattling sound.

– I used to envy power like yours. Now I know that I was better off a monkey. Power like that curses you. It’ll eat you alive, boy.

– I was born this way.

– Take some advice from a dead man walking, then. Don't let that power define you. It's a tool, not your soul.

How absurd. Power is all that Satoru has. Yet, something in Toji’s words strikes a chord.

– Why should I give a shit what you say?

– Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe I’m suffering from blood loss.

After every dream, Toji dies before he speaks again. Each time Satoru wakes up in a panic, he remembers the phantom of two faces. A frail girl and a sullen boy with sharp eyes.

October, 2011

“You gotta like… divide it. You know?”

“Huh?”

Satoru frowns at the worksheet in front of him. Despite being at the top of his class his whole life, he never really cared about academia. He aced everything that was important, and then the information was lost in him. Math was easy, sure, but he didn’t know how to explain it properly to an eight-year-old.

“Look,” he says, pointing to the numbers. “See how this number on top is bigger? That makes it an improper fraction.”

“Yeah?” Megumi replies, bored.

“So, we gotta divide the big one by the little one to get the mixed fraction.”

“But it doesn’t divide evenly…”

“Yeah, so you kind of just… uh, put the leftovers in the fraction part. Next to the whole number.”

Megumi frowns, probably about to complain about Satoru’s lack of teaching instinct, when Shoko walks in. She pauses, a cigarette in her mouth, and flashes Satoru a confused look.

Satoru waves her off with a dismissive hand, turning his attention back to Megumi. The boy's intense green eyes are fixed on the paper, brow furrowed in concentration. For a moment, Satoru sees a flash of Toji in that expression—the same stubborn determination.

"Okay," Megumi says slowly, pencil hovering over the page. "So... seven divided by two is three with one left over?"

"Exactly," Satoru nods, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "So you write it as 3 1/2."

Megumi scribbles down the answer, then looks up at Satoru expectantly. "Is that right?"

"Perfect," Satoru grins, ruffling the boy's hair. Megumi scowls and ducks away, but there's a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

Shoko clears her throat, reminding them of her presence. She exhales a cloud of smoke.

“Yo. You babysitting now?”

“Hey, don’t light up in front of the kids.”

“Since when do you babysit?” she narrows her eyes. “It’s not like you need the money—”

“Hold on, Megs,” Satoru interrupts. The boy happily ignores him, immediately opening Satoru’s Gameboy Advance while Satoru drags Shoko into the nearby bedroom.

After he finishes his spiel, she looks at him with disbelief.

“What the fuck—”

“No swearing, either.”

She scoffs. “You can’t just kidnap some kids. Don’t they have any relatives that can take them in?”

“Uh, yeah. The Zenin clan,” he mutters, keeping his voice low with the door open. He looks over at Megumi on the couch, whose brows are furrowed as he plays his game. In many ways, he really was the spitting image of his father, baring the same teeth ready to snarl. Wounded pup ready to bite. Of course, he was cut from that same Zenin rib.

Satoru sighs. Tsumiki appears, hair disheveled from her nap, and tugs on his sleeve.

“Mister Gojo?”

“Yeah, sweetheart? And you don’t have to call me that.”

Her stomach growls before she can speak.

Shit, he forgot to run to the store to buy more food. Shoko looks at him flatly, knowing full well that he eats like the typical university student despite having the money to get whatever organic shit they sell at the overpriced health food stores.

“Aunt Shoko can take you out. You want a burger or something?”

He gives Shoko a pleading look, to which she rolls her eyes. “C’mon, kid.”

Shoko takes Tsumiki's hand, leading her towards the door. "Let's go, kiddo. We'll grab something for your brother too."

As they leave, Satoru collapses onto the couch next to Megumi, who's still engrossed in the game. He watches the boy's fingers move deftly over the buttons, his face a mask of concentration.

"You're pretty good at that," Satoru comments.

Megumi shrugs without looking up. "S'okay."

Satoru leans back, closing his eyes for a moment. The weight of his decision to take in these kids is starting to sink in. He's barely an adult himself, and now he's responsible for two lives. Two very complicated lives, given their connection to the Zenin clan. A pair of strays.

Megumi pouts as he button-smashes, ultimately losing a level. It’s almost endearing to Satoru, who sees himself in the boy in moments like these. Still, the ghost of Fushiguro still weighs on his shoulders whenever he looks at Megumi’s haunting green eyes. It’s like pieces of jagged glass, quick flashes of a mirrored history.

Satoru's mind wanders to you again as he watches Megumi struggle with the game. He imagines your gentle hands guiding the boy's fingers over the buttons, your patient voice explaining the intricacies of the game mechanics. You always had a way of breaking things down, making the complex simple and approachable. It was one of the things he loved most about you.

Satoru never really has an answer whenever Shoko asks why he decided to take the kids in. Your voice is in the back of his head, calling him selfish. It’s ironic, considering you could take partial credit for taking care of Satoru by simply being there. He was always a spoiled brat and he knew it himself.

His mind is always on you, but as the weeks pass, the thought of you is like a parasite on his brain. You’d be much better at handling the kids than him — hell, it was enough that you had to put up with Satoru’s childish antics when you grew up together.

Maybe he could convince Utahime to return and drag you along. She had always had something maternal about her. It was the way that she nagged and doted on others, the way she’d often beg Shoko to stop smoking, to which Shoko would actually listen (occasionally, for weeks at a time, until she found herself in an unexplainable manic depression again and again).

And you would adore little Megumi, who had the same sarcastic streak as you. Tsumiki would love you, too. She needed a role model that wasn’t Shoko, who often evaded responsibility of the kids by reminding Satoru that she never signed up for it, plus she was serving as something of a mentor for some underclassmen rookies at the morgue.

Satoru's thoughts drift back to you, to the last time he saw you. The memory is etched in his mind, a bittersweet tableau of what once was and what could have been. Your eyes, usually so warm and inviting, had been cold that day, filled with a mixture of disappointment and something else he couldn't quite place. Hurt, perhaps? Or was it resignation?

It was a miracle you’d kissed him at all, even with the dry streaks of tears on your face. He remembered how hot his chest had felt just from something as chaste as your lips pressing against his. It was almost pathetic.

The memory of the kiss taunts him, a ghost of tenderness in the chaos of his new reality. What the fuck was he thinking, playing a father to these kids? Or an older brother of some sorts. Regardless, he wasn’t qualified. Not in the slightest.

In idle moments, Satoru finds himself absently touching his lips, as if he can still feel the trace of your goodbye. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the sensation that lingers on him like a second skin.

He can’t complain about being touch-starved. Not when he has two kids who were alone for God knows how long.

He remembers the way you'd explain things to him when you were younger, your eyes lighting up with excitement as you unraveled the mysteries of the world. How different would Megumi's math lesson have been if you were here? You'd probably have some clever analogy involving shogi pieces or trading cards, something that would click instantly in the boy's mind.

He tries to ignore the pang of longing in his chest. Things were so much easier when you were kids.

He can still feel your laughter. It’s imprinted in his brain, the way it would bubble up from your chest and come out all airy. He remembers the way your eyes crinkled around the corners when you laughed, the way your hands would gesture wildly when lecturing him.

He thinks about each time he saw you before the last time. Your eyes dragged down by hurt, face turning away to hide it. No matter what he said, the space between you would grow into a chasm. He wonders what you’re doing now, if you ever think of him the way he thinks of you — constantly, achingly.

The warmth of summer is the only thing that keeps him grounded. He lets Tsumiki decorate his apartment with plants she chooses at the farmer’s market — the scent of blooming jasmine and mint wafting all over his living room. It reminds him of the perfume you used to wear.

August is as slow as molasses. Sometimes it feels easy.

September, 2011

Satoru's apartment feels emptier without his towering presence, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of Tsumiki watering her plants and Megumi's quiet muttering as he plays his games. The potted plants Tsumiki lovingly tends to seem to droop, as if sensing Satoru’s absence. The late summer heat clings stubbornly to the city, but there's a hint of autumn in the air.

Satoru had left three days prior. He was alone in his house plenty of times when he was nine years old — this was his logic for leaving Tsumiki “in charge.”

"I'll be back soon," he had promised, ruffling Megumi's hair. The boy scowled but didn't pull away. "Remember the rules. Don't open the door for anyone. There's food in the fridge. And if anything happens—"

"Call Shoko," Tsumiki finished, her voice soft but steady.

Satoru nodded, a lump forming in his throat. He'd never left them alone for more than a day before. But this mission... it was too dangerous to bring them along, and too important to postpone.

Since his departure, the apartment starts to feel cavernous without Satoru’s larger-than-life presence. A storm brews over Tokyo, which leaves Tsumiki to slam all the windows closed in paranoia. She checks the locks every hour.

“You’re being dramatic,” Megumi huffs.

“No, I’m not,” Tsumiki frowns. She’s overprotective over Megumi, who’s usually occupied by Satoru’s brand new Nintendo 3DS, which came with dozens of games that he knowingly bought to occupy the boy.

It rains heavily that night, then the next. On the third night, the sky is eerily yellow, fading into a burgundy by dusk. Blood moon. Megumi and Tsumiki are huddled on the couch, the Nintendo dead and forgotten on the coffee table. Despite there not being rain, the weather outside is windy enough to blow the power out. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the windows with an odd persistence.

It’s as if something had changed in the atmosphere entirely. The shadows feel deeper than usual, if that was possible. Megumi feels it first, a prickling sensation at the base of his skull.

His stomach growls. There’s no way to heat up leftovers, goddammit. As he steps out towards the pantry, Tsumiki’s favorite jasmine plant withers before his eyes, its vibrant green leaves turning black and crumbling to dust.

Something is terribly wrong.

The air grows heavy, thick with an unseen presence. The shadows in the corners of the room seem to writhe and stretch, reaching out with inky tendrils. A low, guttural growl emanates from somewhere beyond the walls. There’s a scratching at the door, soft at first, then growing more insistent. Megumi's eyes widen, his hand instinctively reaching for Tsumiki's.

Megumi's heart races as he recognizes the telltale signs of a cursed spirit manifesting. He'd seen it before, back when...

He shakes the memory away, focusing on protecting Tsumiki.

"It's probably just a cat," Tsumiki whispers, but her voice trembles.

The scratching stops, replaced by a low, guttural growl that sends chills down their spines. This is no cat.

Megumi springs into action, dragging Tsumiki towards Satoru's room. They barricade the door with a dresser, their hearts pounding in their ears.

"We need to call someone," Tsumiki says, her voice barely audible over the sound of splintering wood from the living room.

“W-We’re fine,” Megumi huffs nervously. His Divine dogs are braced for danger and both double his size. It’s fine, he tells himself.

“Gojo said you can’t use your technique yet. It’s too dangerous.”

“Well, someone has to protect us around here!”

“Don’t,” Tsumiki warns. “Let’s just call Shoko.”

Megumi rolls his eyes, fumbling for the emergency phone Satoru left them. His fingers shake as he scrolls through the contacts. Shoko's name is there, but something makes him pause. Another number catches his eye, labeled simply "Last Resort."

Without thinking, he presses call.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Each second feels like an eternity as the shadows in the room seem to pulse and grow.

Finally, a click.

“Hello?”

"Please," Megumi chokes out, terror making his voice crack. "We need help. Gojo's gone and there's something in the apartment and—"

“Whoa, slow down—”

Tsumiki takes the phone frantically.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Something's wrong, there’s something outside, and Mister Gojo isn't here, and we found your number, and—"

“Hey,” you whisper softly. “Just relax a second. Who is this?”

"I'm Tsumiki," she says, her voice steadying slightly at the calm in your tone. ��Is… is Shoko there?”

“No… I’m a friend of hers—”

“Mister Gojo is away,” Tsumiki interrupts. “We’re supposed to call Shoko if anything happens, but my brother Megumi called your number instead—”

A low, rumbling growl cuts through the air, causing both children to freeze. Megumi's eyes widen as he sees something move in the shadows, something with too many limbs and eyes that gleam with malevolent hunger.

"What was that?" you ask, your voice sharp with concern.

"There's something here," Megumi says, taking the phone from his sister. "Something... not normal. The shadows are moving, and—"

Another growl, closer this time. Tsumiki lets out a small whimper, pressing close to her brother. Megumi's head snaps up, green eyes narrowing as he listens intently.

"Megumi?" Tsumiki whispers, voice trembling slightly.

He holds up a hand, signaling for quiet.

Megumi's mind races. Satoru had drilled them on what to do in emergencies, but faced with the reality of the situation, panic threatened to overwhelm him. He grabs Tsumiki's hand, pulling her towards Satoru's bedroom.

"Hide," he hisses, shoving her towards the closet. "Don't come out no matter what."

"Megumi, don't!" Tsumiki shrieks, but he ignores her, peering around the corner.

Megumi peers out into the empty. The looming darkness is filled with whispers that he isn't sure are in his head or not. There’s a crash outside and his heart races — is someone trying to break in?

He rushes back to Tsumiki and hides in the closet with her, the phone muffling your voice as he shoves it in his pocket.

“What’s going on?” you demand.

“Shhh,” Megumi whispers.

His heart pounds as he and Tsumiki huddle in the closet. The darkness seems alive, pulsing with malevolent energy. A foul odor seeps under the door – rotting flesh mixed with sulfur.

Through the crack of the closet door, Megumi sees it. Tsumiki bites her lip to stifle a scream.

Standing before them is a grotesque creature, its body a writhing mass of shadows and tentacles. It's barely humanoid, its body a writhing mass of shadows and teeth. Multiple yellow eyes blink at random across its form. A gaping maw lined with needle-sharp teeth stretches open, dripping black ichor. Tendrils of inky blackness slither across the floor, probing every corner of the room. Where they touch, the carpet withers and disintegrates.

A face emerges from the writhing mass - if it can be called a face at all. It's a nightmarish patchwork of mismatched features, eyes blinking open and closed at random across its surface. A mouth stretches impossibly wide, revealing row upon row of needle-sharp teeth.

Megumi's breath catches in his throat. This is something far worse than an intruder — a cursed spirit, the kind Satoru had warned them about but never fully explained.

The spirit pauses, its grotesque head swiveling towards the closet. Megumi's blood runs cold as dozens of eyes focus on their hiding spot. He knows, with bone-deep certainty, that they've been found.

Megumi's mind races. He knows he shouldn't use his technique, but what choice does he have? As the creature reaches for them with elongated, clawed fingers, Megumi summons every ounce of courage he has.

"Divine Dogs!" he shouts, his voice cracking.

Two massive, spectral hounds materialize, their fur crackling with otherworldly energy. They lunge at the shadow creature, tearing into it with ethereal fangs. The being shrieks, a sound that makes the windows rattle and the children's ears ring.

Just as the dying spirit lunges toward them, the bedroom door explodes inward. A familiar figure lands in a crouch, cigarette dangling from her lips. A familiar figure lands in a crouch, cigarette dangling from her lips.

"What the fuck," she mutters, before springing into action. “Get back, kiddo!”

Megumi panics and turns to see Tsumiki shaking in the corner, his heart leaping with adrenaline. Immediately, he covers her as a shield once he realizes that the cursed spirit is regenerating its limbs.

"Hey, ugly," Shoko drawls, flicking ash onto the carpet.

The spirit whirls to face her, letting out an ear-splitting shriek. Shoko doesn't flinch. Her hands move in a blur, tracing intricate patterns in the air. Blue light crackles between her fingers, and the temperature in the room plummets.

"Megumi, Tsumiki," she calls out, not taking her eyes off the spirit. "Cover your ears and close your eyes. Now!"

The children obey without hesitation. Even with their eyes squeezed shut, they see the flash of brilliant light through their eyelids. The spirit's shriek cuts off abruptly, replaced by an odd sucking sound, like air being pulled through a too-small vent.

With a final, ear-splitting shriek, the creature implodes, leaving nothing but a fading wisp of darkness and dark purple blood.

"You kids okay?" Shoko asks, her usual nonchalance tinged with genuine concern.

Megumi nods shakily, helping Tsumiki to her feet.

"How did you know to come?" Tsumiki asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shoko's eyes narrow when she hears a tinny voice. "What is that?”

In the sudden silence, Megumi becomes aware of the voice still coming from the phone in his pocket. His eyes widen when he remembers. He fumbles with the phone, putting it on speaker.

Shoko immediately recognizes your voice. She snatches the phone from Megumi's grasp.

"What's happening?" you yell, your voice tinny and distant.

"They're safe," she says, her tone clipped. "I've got them."

"Shoko?" you gasp. "What the hell is going on? Where's Satoru?"

Shoko sighs, running a hand through her hair. "It's a long story. He's on a mission."

"A mission? And he left two children alone?" The anger in your voice is palpable. "What the fuck?”

Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, her eyes darting between the kids and the phone.

“You know how he is,” she mutters, avoiding their gazes now.

"Look, I've got this under control. You don't need to—"

"Under control? Are two children getting attacked what you call fucking under control?”

Megumi and Tsumiki exchange glances, sensing the tension even through the phone line. Shoko sighs, her usual sardonic demeanor slipping for a moment.

"They weren't supposed to be alone," she mutters. "I was meant to check in, but..." She trails off, guilt etched on her face.

"But what?" you press, your voice sharp.

"I got held up at work. A bad case. I lost track of time."

There's a moment of heavy silence. When you speak again, your voice is quieter, but no less intense. "So you’re at his apartment now? He has an apartment? How are the kids?"

"Obviously he does — he’s rich… anyways, that’s not the point," Shoko huffs, glancing around the disheveled room. "The kids are okay, just shaken up."

"I'm coming over," you say firmly. "Text me the address."

"Wait, from Kyoto? I don't think that's a good —" Shoko starts, but you've already hung up.

Shoko stares at the phone for a moment, then turns to the children. Megumi is watching her with those unnervingly intense eyes, while Tsumiki seems to be on the verge of tears.

"Alright, kids," Shoko says, stubbing out her cigarette. "Let's get this place cleaned up before our guest arrives. And maybe... maybe don't mention the whole cursed spirit thing to them, okay?"

Megumi nods solemnly, but Tsumiki speaks up, her voice trembling. "Who was that? On the phone?"

Shoko hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "An old friend. Someone who cares about you two, even if they don't know you yet."

She gives a wry smile and surveys the destruction of the apartment — a shattered window, scorched walls, blood on the carpet. Luckily, it’s all replaceable, but she knows that Satoru will whine about the damage despite the fact that he should be blamed for leaving two elementary schoolers alone in the first place. Ironically, the worst damage to him will be whatever words you have for him once you get back to Tokyo. She almost laughs at the idea.

The night wears on, the silence broken only by Shoko's cleaning and the distant sounds of the city. She puts the kids to bed as she cleans, eventually passing out on the couch.

Hours later, when the first hints of dawn begin to color the sky, there’s a knock at the door. Shoko wakes up and tenses. She immediately senses Tsumiki in the corner, the damn early bird. Her big eyes watch her curiously.

“It’s okay,” Shoko calls to her. “It’s probably… our, uh, guest.”

She opens the door, revealing a figure silhouetted. Tsumiki cranes her neck to get a better look.

You enter the room, your eyes immediately scanning for threats before settling on Tsumiki. Your expression softens.

The air in the apartment feels charged, the earlier supernatural encounter leaving a macabre energy. The residuals are everywhere. They’re suffocating. You can taste the metallic tang of blood in the air. It’s faint but present.

“What… the fuck happened?”

“Just a.. break in?” Shoko says sheepishly. She isn’t sure if that sounds better or worse than a supernatural entity.

You stare long and hard at the dried blood on the carpet. A cursed spirit.

“Why in the world would the kids attract a curse that big? Was it a special grade?”

“No, no,” Shoko sighs and shakes her head. “A Grade 2 at best. The kids were just spooked. They’ve probably never seen anything like that before.”

You pause, narrowing your eyes.

“Are you going to explain to me why Satoru is housing two children despite not even being able to stay with them?”

Shoko glances at her phone, which somehow managed to get shattered in the chaos prior. The screen glows 6:23 am. She sighs.

“Sit down. I’ll make some coffee.”

Satoru is barely awake when he returns to the apartment two days later. His hair is disheveled, the bluish veins underneath in his eyes more prominent underneath his nearly translucent skin. As he approaches the door, he senses something different — cursed energy that’s vaguely familiar. His heart skips a beat.

Something is wrong, but there is also a presence that is rather… comforting behind the door. He can’t quite place the energy. His stomach flips. He pauses, hand hovering over the doorknob, before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

The sight that greets him stops him in his tracks. There you are, standing in his living room, your eyes blazing with a fury he hasn't seen in years. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches the highlights in your hair, creating a halo effect that makes you look almost ethereal. For a moment, Satoru forgets to breathe.

He freezes completely. It has only been two months since he’d last seen you, yet you’re more beautiful than ever. You’re here. In his apartment, in the flesh. You’re real and solid and so achingly familiar that it makes his heart clench.

“Y/N,” he breathes. Something in you aches when you hear your name from his mouth instead of Twigs.

Before he gets another word in, you launch into a tirade that would make lesser men cower.

“What the hell were you thinking, Satoru?" Your voice is low and dangerous, each word sharp as a blade. "Leaving two children alone in an apartment? Do you have any idea what could have happened? What did happen?"

Satoru opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off with a raised hand. Your words come out in a torrent, each one hitting him like a physical blow.

“No, you don’t get to speak right now. I don’t care if the higher-ups threatened an execution on you if you didn’t take whatever fucking mission you went on! A Grade 2 was here, Satoru. With two defenseless children.”

You're pacing now. Your hair whips around your face as you turn, and Satoru is mesmerized by the way the morning light catches in it.

“And what's this about you taking in two kids, anyway? Since when are you qualified to be a guardian? You can barely take care of yourself! You thought you could do this on your own and have Shoko play babysitter knowing she works her ass off at the morgue? What were you thinking?"

As you continue, gesticulating wildly, Satoru feels a mix of emotions swirling within him. Guilt, certainly, for the danger he'd inadvertently put Megumi and Tsumiki in. Concern for their wellbeing. But underlying it all is a current of... something else.

Your passion, your righteous anger on behalf of the children - it stirs something in him. The way your eyes flash, the way your voice rises and falls with emotion, the way your body moves as you pace and gesture - it's intoxicating.

Satoru knows he should be ashamed, should be apologizing, explaining. But a part of him - a part he's not proud of - is thrilled by your anger. It makes heat pool in his stomach. It means you care. It means you still feel something for him, even if it's fury.

He should be focusing on your words, on the valid points you're making. But part of him is lost in the way your lips form each syllable, the way your hair falls across your face as you shake your head in disbelief.

"Are you even listening to me?" you demand, snapping him back to attention.

"Every word," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You falter for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. Then you continue to rally against him, launching into yet another tirade, and despite the passionate cadence of your voice that he loves so very much, he can’t help but have that fade into the background as he stares at you. Your presence alone is starting to make him feel dizzy.

He's vaguely aware that he should be defending himself, but he can't bring himself to interrupt. Instead, he drinks in the sight of you, cataloging every detail. The way your brow furrows when you're particularly upset. The slight tremble in your hands as you wave them around.

As you continue to berate him, Satoru finds himself fighting the urge to pull you close, to silence your anger with his lips. The thought shocks him - he shouldn't be thinking like this, not when you're rightfully furious with him. But he can't help it.

You’re still pacing, not even really looking at him as you go on about how fucking stupid he is, and how childish, which somehow progresses into you rambling about one time a few years ago when you were sick at his house during a winter break and he had managed to start a fire while attempting to make soup for you, because that’s how fucking stupid he is.

You don’t even notice him stalking towards you until he takes your arms in his hands, steeling his grip on you so that he can kiss you square on the mouth. You whine petulantly, pushing him away. He feels a strike on his right cheek that is… well-deserved, honestly.

Your mind reels. You’re not one for being physical besides sparring, but you’ve never hit Satoru in your life. Part of you feels guilty for a millisecond. Part of you is surprised that he let you through his Infinity.

“I– What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you always do that? You do that literally every time we have a fight–”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I deserved that slap.”

“No shit,” you grit. “This isn’t fucking funny, Satoru. Do you even take me seriously?”

“Yes. You can slap me again if you don’t believe me. Punch me all you want.”

“Okay, don’t make it weird,” you mutter.

“What?” he frowns sheepishly.

You narrow your eyes. “I know you’re turned on right now.”

“Wha– I am not.”

“You are the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting–”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. His voice is earnest. “I really am—”

“Do not interrupt me,” you hiss.

Yes, ma’am, he murmurs in his head. He lets you yell at him a bit more until you’re particularly out of breath. His gaze on you is still intense, slightly wanton, and once you finish your ranting, you fidget awkwardly at his commanding presence.

It’s now that you start to see him – although you’d seen him on Tanabata, it was brief and night. In the context of his apartment (you knew he could always afford one but didn’t understand why he never just lived off campus before), and the fact that he has a blooming bruise below his jaw, you realize that he’s grown. His features have sharpened. His eyes look tired, his hands more calloused.

You shake away those observations to focus on how livid you are.

“Do you have anything to say?” you snap.

“I really am in love with you,” he mutters. Your eyes widen.

Before you can react, the door opens, revealing Shoko and the kids. Tsumiki, ever oblivious to the tension, lights up at the sight of Gojo and runs to hug him. Megumi’s curious eyes dart between the both of you.

“Gojo-san! You’re back!” Tsumiki beams.

Satoru's eyes widen as Tsumiki barrels into him, wrapping her small arms around his waist. For a moment, his gaze flicks between you and the little girl clinging to him, his expression a mix of tenderness and uncertainty.

He bends down to hug the little girl, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"Hey kiddo, I missed you. Were you good while I was gone?"

Tsumiki nods eagerly. "Uh-huh! We made new friends!"

Satoru raises an eyebrow, glancing at you. "Oh really?"

"Mhm! Miss Y/N is so nice! She made us pancakes yesterday and helped me water all my plants."

A soft smile tugs at Satoru's lips as he looks at you. "Is that so?"

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze. "Someone had to make sure they were fed," you mutter.

Megumi hovers in the doorway, eyeing Satoru warily. "Where were you?" he demands.

Satoru sighs, standing up. "The mission took a bit longer than expected.”

"You said you'd be back soon," Megumi accuses. "It's been days."

"I know, I'm sorry," Satoru says, looking genuinely remorseful. "I didn’t want to be away for so long. But I'm back now, and I promise I won't leave you guys like that again."

Megumi nods curtly, seemingly satisfied for now. Shoko clears her throat. "Well, now that the gang's all here, how about some breakfast? We picked up a lot of groceries."

As everyone moves towards the kitchen, Satoru hangs back, catching your arm gently. "Hey, can we talk? Please?"

You hesitate, torn between your lingering anger and the earnestness in his eyes. Finally, you nod. "Fine. But not now. After breakfast."

Satoru nods, relief evident on his face. "Thank you."

The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity as Shoko attempts to make French toast (with questionable success) while the kids chatter. You find yourself watching Satoru, the way he interacts with the children. There's a gentleness there you've never seen before, a protective instinct that makes your heart ache.

As you all sit down to eat, Tsumiki regales Satoru with tales of your kindness, how you taught her to braid her hair and helped Megumi with his homework. Satoru listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face. You flush under his gaze, embarrassed. You’d only been around for maybe two days to allow Shoko to rest and you were already getting praised so heavily by a nine-year-old.

"She’s the best!" Tsumiki declares through a mouthful of pancake. "Can she stay with us forever?"

Satoru chokes on his coffee, while you nearly drop your fork. "Ah, well," Satoru stammers, "That's... complicated, sweetie."

"Why?" Megumi pipes up, his sharp eyes darting between you and Satoru. “She should stay. She helped me beat Chocolate Island on Super Mario.”

“Well… Y/N is just visiting. She’s visiting from Kyoto.”

Your heart sinks at the sight of Tsumiki’s pout.

“I can stay for a little bit,” you interject. Satoru and Shoko look at you with surprise. Shoko’s raised brows falter as her expression turns into one of amusement.

“You should sleep in the guest room that I was sleeping in. I only use it when I have to stay overnight, anyway,” Shoko smirks. You blink at her, your eyes silently telling her to stop talking.

“Yeah! You should stay with us! It’s nice having a girl around,” Tsumiki chirps. “Pleaaaase?”

“I— I’ll have to check with the school. I still have classes and work on the Kyoto campus…” you say sheepishly.

“But you won’t leave today, right?” Megumi asks.

You smile softly. “No, sweetheart, I’m not leaving today.”

Satoru lets out a breath of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding in. The kids drop the subject, easily distracted by Shoko telling a story about an incident in the morgue with her underclassmen. While the kids squeal at the more… grotesque details of her story, you and Satoru exchange glances.

You can't help but feel that something fundamental has shifted. The Satoru you knew - reckless, carefree, seemingly invincible - has been replaced by someone more complex, more human. More vulnerable. The air between you feels charged, electric with lingering conflict.

"Hey," Satoru murmurs, his voice low and urgent. "About what I said—"

"Not now," you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended.

Satoru nods, a flicker of something—disappointment? Relief?—crossing his face. "Later, then."

He moves on, immediately turning into his goofy, charismatic self as he engages in conversation.

And as much as you want to hold onto your anger, a part of you is intrigued by this new version of him. He had always been a bit immature and arrogant. He often didn’t take things seriously, but Satoru in the presence of children was something else. He was an accountable man, in more ways than beyond saving others from cursed spirits. A man who takes in orphaned children, who looks at you with such raw vulnerability in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever comes next. Whatever this is - whatever Satoru has gotten himself into - you're now irrevocably a part of it. And despite everything, a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that maybe, just maybe, that's not such a bad thing after all.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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sister-lucifer · 10 months ago

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READ PART ONE HERE

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Comfort, fluff, slight angst but nothing heavy, not explicitly romantic

Summary: The thunder rouses you from a nightmare-filled sleep, and in your distress you run to Tim for comfort

Content/Warnings: None really, reader has nightmares due to unspecified trauma but nothing is explicitly written, Tim is a little emotionally constipated but does his best, no explicit romance.

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Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You nearly jump out of your skin when the screaming thunder rips you from your fitful sleep. You sit up so fast you almost fall out of bed, your jaw hanging open like you’re trying to cry out despite no sound leaving your throat. Your chest is heaving so fast you start to choke on your breath. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus, and even longer still for you to remember where you are.

Do you recognize this place?

Home?

This isn’t home.

No. Not quite.

A home, yes, but not your home.

The TV is still on.

The wallpaper is still peeling.

The shag rug is still discolored.

You know where you are.

You look around for a second, taking in your surroundings and making sure your assessment was correct. It’s like a flood of memories coming back to you in an instant, and for a second it’s almost calming. That is, until you get to the part that made you so afraid in the first place.

The nightmares have been pervasive for weeks now. You’re not sure why. It’s some sort of episode you think, one of these days it’ll stop, but it’s been wearing on you. You’ve hidden it from Tim as best you can. You don’t want him to worry, that’ll only make you feel worse, and usually it’s easy enough to shake the thoughts from your mind.

Usually.

But this time it’s lingering, an unwanted guest meandering in the doorway for an uncomfortable amount of time, like dirty smoke permeating everything around it and yellowing the walls with its horrible malodor.

God, it’s everywhere.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face in them. It’s a feeble attempt to calm yourself, to stop the images of your nightmare from flashing in your mind over and over again, but it does little to help.

The thunder cries out again and you yelp in surprise, the harsh noise cutting through the static buzzing taking over your mind. It irritates the pounding headache you can feel coming on. You’re exhausted, only being kept awake by the obscene amounts of adrenaline being pumped through your veins.

God, it won’t go away.

There are just some thoughts that can’t be forced out no matter how hard you try. They can’t be pushed away or covered up or cut out of you. You can only wait until they dissolve on their own, but right now they feel like a cement block weighing you down from the inside.

The headache is coming on faster than you thought, and you wince under the pressure of pins and needles in the back of your head.

God, it hurts.

You can’t stay here.

You can’t stay in this room.

It’s like the walls are closing in on you, the darkness barely shrouding their approach.

It’s not safe here.

You need Tim.

He’ll know what to do.

You jump from your bed and tumble to the floor, not even taking a moment to acknowledge the pain as you thrash your way out of the covers tangled around your ankles. You barely manage to stumble to your feet, slamming into the doorway as you flee the room. It stings, but you don’t care.

You’ve forgotten all pleasantries or manners as you burst into Tim’s room, slamming the door open so fast the knob rattles from the impact. Tim jolts awake with a grunt of surprise, and for a moment his hand jumps to grab the revolver he keeps in the dresser drawer. He only fumbles with the handle for a moment before he blinks a few times and pauses. He squints at you, tilts his head, then sighs in both relief and annoyance.

He collapses back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes.

“God…dammit, kid!” He groans, and you feel a pang of guilt that’s quickly washed away by the flood of tears stinging your eyes and burning your throat.

You rush to his bedside, collapsing against the mattress and gasping for air as you try to collect yourself. You try to breath in, but the air is forced back out of your lung before you can take a meaningful breath. You choke out a pitiful cry of Tim’s name, but with the old TV being the only light in the room and his vision still blurry with sleep he can’t see the distress that’s evident on your face.

He turns over onto his side, brows furrowed in annoyance and a hint of a scowl on his lips.

“What do you need, kid?”

You don’t get to answer before the thunder comes down again, making you flinch and forcing a surprised noise from your mouth. Tim turns and looks out the window, sighing and rolling his eyes.

“Is it the thunder, huh? You scared, kid?”

“Yes,” You finally choke out.

He pauses, his expression instantly shifting to one of concern. He scrambles to sit up, making room for you on the bed.

“Okay, okay,” He says softly, “Come on, get up here, I got you.”

You claw at the sheets as you climb up into bed with him, your hands immediately finding his body and grabbing onto his shirt. You pull yourself into him so desperately he almost falls over, barely managing to catch himself just in time to keep you both from going down.

He’s almost as frantic as you are, large hands fumbling with you as he clumsily pulls you onto his lap and into his chest. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt so hard your knuckles are getting sore. It hurts, but you can’t let go. You hiccup and your breath stutters as you fight for air.

“Hey, hey,” He whispers, trying to keep you still against him without crushing you, “Are you hurt or anything?”

“No,” You answer, not relaxing your grip for a second. You feel Tim nod.

“Okay, okay. What’s wrong, kid, what’s got you all worked up?” He asks. Hopefully you can’t hear that little shake in his voice.

“N-Nightmare,” is the only reply you can stutter out, but it says enough. It strikes a nerve somewhere deep inside of Tim’s being, and it hurts like hell. He knows what it’s like to wake up screaming, terrified and alone.

You’re not alone, though. Not this time. He won’t let you suffer like that.

…But god, he is so bad at this.

He loves you with everything he’s got, but he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s come right out and said it. It’s embarrassing for him, that’s all, the words taste contrived and sticky in his mouth and it’s just unbearable. It’s not something he can make himself do.

What else can he possibly say?

He ponders that question as he keeps you against him, almost afraid to let you go. He can feel your hot tears soaking through his thin night shirt now. He doesn’t know how to stop them. He’s always suffered alone, he doesn’t even have a frame of reference here.

Think, dammit, think, Tim.

He won’t tell you everything is okay. It’s not, it never will be, and he’s not going to lie to you.

He won’t tell you to stop crying. It’d be a horrible thing to ask of you, full stop. Christ, at this point, you deserve a good cry.

He won’t stay quiet. It’s completely out of the question, he has to say something, and it has to be the truth.

He has to tell you the truth.

“…You’re safe with me, kid,” He sputters, trying to get the words out as fast as possible, “You’re safe, I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you. Not ever.”

You go quiet for just a moment, like you’re surprised to hear that. Then you hiccup and suck in a harsh breath, and the sobs roll in once more. He sighs and starts to rub your back in smooth circles.

“Whatever’s scarin’ you, kid,” He mutters in your ear, “I won’t let it get you. Nothing‘s gonna get to you while I’m here. You can sit here in my lap all night if you want, I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere ‘til you feel safe.”

As he talks, you slowly start to calm down. It’s gradual, but when he stops talking your hiccups and sobs have gotten just a bit quieter. Your grip on his shirt has loosened a little, too.

You believe him.

God, you really do believe him.

And for some reason, that’s the most amazing thought that’s ever crossed his mind. You really do trust him to keep you safe.

He plans to keep it that way.

He adjusts you in his hold just a bit, moving to lean back against his pillows. He tightens his grip a bit just to keep you from moving. He doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to get away from you, he just wants you both to be comfortable.

Both of his hands rest on your back, slowly sliding up and down as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Your body shivers against him, the heaving in your chest starting to level out bit by bit as you catch your breath. He can feel your lungs expand and contract with each breath.

He reaches up to scratch the back of your head, his other arm wrapping around you. He listens intently as your voice quiets until you’re silent, and then the only thing he can hear is your steady breathing.

He just sits there for a minute when he realizes he’s actually managed to calm you. He’s almost impressed with himself. In any other universe, that was probably a disaster.

His hands still and move to rest on your back once more. He doesn’t feel the need to keep you held so tight now. You’re not going anywhere.

Are you even awake?

He turns his head to look at you, and you stir a bit in response. He quickly turns his head back so as not to wake you if you are asleep. He’s not going to get up until you are.

He sighs softly to himself, his eyes turning back to the TV and whatever trashy sitcom he fell asleep too a few hours ago. He doesn’t really care. He won’t be up for much longer. Now that the adrenaline has worn off the exhaustion is quickly taking over, not to mention the warmth and comfortable pressure of you laying on top of him is more relaxing than he’d like to admit.

He’s only just allowed his eyes to flutter shut when he feels you stir, and suddenly they fly open again. He stays still, but alert. You’re not having another nightmare, are you? Shit…

He tenses as he listens to you, watching your movements carefully. You don’t seem upset, at least not yet, but that can change in an instant.

He’s ready to hold onto you if you freak out. He’s thinking about where he last left the first aid kit, just in case. He’s wondering what he’ll have to say this time if he can’t bring you down again.

But then you go still.

And you’re quiet.

And you’re breathing steadily.

And everything’s okay again.

Then Tim flinches as an unexpected mumble of his name falls from your lips, and he turns to look at you in surprise and slight concern.

“Yeah, kid? What is it?”

He gets no response.

Your eyes are closed. You’re asleep.

Thank God.

He huffs at his own anxiousness before laying his head back again. He pats your back softly, and his eyelids are starting to feel heavy again.

“You know what?” He whispers as he reaches to pull a blanket over both of you, “I’ll ask you in the morning. Sweet dreams, kid.”

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mostly-marvel-musings · 6 months ago

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Chapter 3 - An Affair to Remember

A/N: New chapter? Here we are. Let me know your thoughts!!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, fluff, angst?

Word count: 4k ish. It’s long.

An affair to remember

“You what?”

That was the third time Izzy had asked the question and your answer hadn’t changed. You knew it would shock her, I mean to an extent it shocked you. But you had to tell your best friend, you couldn’t keep it a secret. So you called her home for dinner and drinks, since it was her last night before she flew off to yet another location for another wildlife photography assignment.

“I slept with him, Izzy. I told you already.” you sighed.

“And how old is this guy again?” Her voice was laced with judgement but you decided to let her have at it since the situation was delicate and much expected; she had been picking at the label stuck on the beer bottle, it now formed a tiny mountain on your dining table as she continued scratching it off the glass.

“I don’t know! Forty something?”

“He’s forty six, Y/N. That’s too old for you!” Her words cut through that little daydream you were in, she could be frustratingly real sometimes.

“You don’t think I know that? Izzy, you’re supposed to be my friend. Not my mom.” You muttered defensively, walking over to get yourself another beer from your fridge.

“I’m just looking out for you, Y/N. I don’t want you to be involved in something that can get really complicated. And this? Has complications written all over it.” Her tone had turned gentler now, eyes full of worry as you sighed, leaning back your chair.

“Okay, I haven’t figured it all out yet but I will. It’s not like I’m dating him, you know? It could be a one time thing.”

It sent a pang of disappointment through you as you said it out loud, not really wanting last night to be a one time thing.

“Well good. I don’t want you getting hurt. Just be careful okay?”

Nodding, you gave her a grateful smile, accepting the hug she gave you.

“And you’re right. I’m not your mom and I don’t plan to be. I’m your best friend, so, how was he?” She smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at you as she sat back.

“Oh God! I’m not gonna tell you.” Heat rushed up to your cheeks at her question, memories of the night before flooded in.

“Come on! Tell me. Did he at least make you come?” Izzy prodded, clearly determined to make you blush like a little girl.

“Twice.” you admitted, giggling when she whistled dramatically, glad that you had her with you even though she wasn’t exactly thrilled about the whole thing with Tony Stark.

Your next visit to Stark Tower was in a professional capacity. Well, almost.

It was the day of the photoshoot and you had arrived punctually, a familiar good-nervous energy buzzing in your veins. Happy Hogan greeted you again, this time introducing you to the people involved in the magazine photoshoot.

While you and the creative director had a chat, you were told Tony was getting ready for his first look. They wanted a few shots of him individually and the rest in his research and development lab, one which you were yet to see.

“Miss Y/L/N?” your head snapped up at the source of your name being called, it was Tony’s assistant Natalie, whom you had exchanged emails with in the past few days. She was a tall, beautiful woman and if you had to bet, was your age.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Stark has requested to see you.”

You tried to avoid the raised eyebrows you got as you followed her to the changing room. When she left, Tony pulled you inside, almost making you yelp.

You weren’t the least bit surprised when you saw him but the tailored charcoal suit, blue under shirt and matching tie made him look irresistibly handsome. And of course, he knew it.

“You requested for me.” you murmured, your pulse racing as he sauntered closer, wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m in a bit of a situation, Miss Y/L/N and I was hoping you could help.” he smirked, letting you feel what the ‘situation’ was.

“With a whole crew waiting? Mr. Stark, you're terribly unprofessional.” you tutted, skimming your fingers over his crotch, smirking yourself when his cock reacted to your touch.

You had been texting back and forth over the past few days, most of those conversations had a tendency to take a sexual turn, not that you were complaining. It felt like your little secret that nobody knew, it was thrilling.

Dropping to your knees, you held his gaze while undoing his pants, his coffee brown eyes darkened at the sight as his cock sprung free of its constraints.

“Be a good girl and take me in your mouth.”

Heat pooled between your legs at his words as you complied, desire coursing freely as he watched your hand wrap itself around the base while your warmth coated his tip. You heard him hiss as you took more of him in, his fingers finding purchase in your hair, keeping their grip firm.

“That’s it.”

He reached the back of your throat, now fully erect as you began bringing him pleasure with your mouth, one of your hands finding their way to cup his balls. An ex-boyfriend of yours had complimented your skills for giving head, you knew just what to do to drive them insane. Although you never went all the way with him, you had done some fun stuff.

Tony had to grab onto the back of a chair as you increased momentum, working your hand and mouth in tandem while swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting his salty eagerness.

“Fuck. You’re not as innocent as you play, are you sweetheart?” he was panting, his hold on your hair tighter now as he felt his hips stutter.

Your panties were damp hearing Tony’s little grunts and whines as you brought him closer to the edge, a sense of power taking over you at the sight of this witty businessman completely at your mercy.

With pre-cum leaking, Tony knew it wouldn’t be long now, especially when he saw you press your thighs together, knowing you were enjoying it as much as he was.

“Stop if you don’t want me to come in your mouth, Y/N.” he warned, closing his eyes as his muscles twitched.

You didn’t stop. You wanted it. All of him. As you caressed his balls some more, you felt them tighten before his cock twitched in your mouth, his warm cum shooting at the back of your throat in ropes. Cursing under his breath, Tony pulled you up to crash his lips against yours, tasting himself mixed with your minty breath.

There was a knock on the door that startled you both, making you grin like a couple of naughty kids who had almost been caught.

“I’m returning the favor. Later.” he promised with a final kiss before straightening up and allowing you to step out first, making up some excuse which his poor assistant bought.

Tony was a natural when it came to facing the camera, you figured he had been doing it for years since he was in the public eye almost all his life. Still his presence commanded attention, and your camera captured every bit of his charisma perfectly as he posed for you. He would occasionally come over to look at the computer, under pretense of wanting to get the shot right but his wandering hands had other intentions.

When you moved locations down to his lab, you couldn’t help but look around the space that made him Tony Stark. It was quite evident that spent a lot of his time in the lab. It had a tiny kitchen, a sofa in the far corner, cars and bikes you couldn’t name but were sure cost millions of dollars along with workstations that looked right out of a sci-fi movie.

You saw his demeanor change in the lab, like he was in his natural habitat. This part of the photoshoot included bits of the interview and he went about answering questions while you captured some candid moments.

There was a collective round of applause when it was done, the director was happy with the results and as were you. The pictures had turned out amazing, the creative director even had a couple of offers for you which you were elated about.

“Now about that reward, Miss Y/L/N.” Tony pulled your back against his chest as you put the last of your equipment away, trailing light kisses along your neck. You were thankful the room was deserted as his hands slipped under your skirt, grazing up your thighs slowly.

“Wait, what time is it?” you asked abruptly after your eyes had landed on the calendar that let you know what day it was.

“Six o’clock, why?”

“Shit! It’s my mom’s birthday and I’m supposed to be there for movie night. It’s a family tradition.” you sighed, turning around in his arms as he rubbed your arms comfortingly.

“Let me drive you there.” he offered.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Tony. She’ll get suspicious and it won’t end well.”

Knowing your mother, she would pester you for the rest of the night and you wanted to avoid that at all costs. Besides, you hadn’t had ‘the talk’ with Tony yet, you weren’t sure if you were a couple at all or this was just a casual fling. You leaned your forehead against his chest and let out a groan.

“I guess we could go separately and waste fuel if that’s what you want.”

You frowned up at him, not understanding what he meant before he sent you a knowing look.

“They’ve invited you?”

“I am quite popular with them, you know..”

He was right, your parents and him were quite close, he had been a part of most of the celebrations back home and vice-versa. You were anxious about arriving at the party with him but then Tony’s excuse sounded convincing, you were already at his place for the photoshoot and he just happened to offer you a ride.

You agreed, even approved the bottle of wine he had got for your mother, it was one of her favourites; your present was already at the house, in your studio. You had a ‘then and now’ set of pictures on a digital frame that you finalized as a gift.

It was your Dad who opened the door when you two arrived, crushing you in a hug before doing the same with Tony, not a single question about how and why you had come in together. That was good, you thought. Your mother however, needed the explanation you had prepared for.

“Happy birthday, Jen. Forty one looks great on you.” Tony kissed her cheek, handing her the bottle while you choked into a bout of coughs. Even though you were aware, it just hit you that the man you had slept with was five years older than your Mom.

“You okay, Y/N?” she frowned, accepting the hug you gave her even though she wasn’t satisfied with the quick thumbs-up you gave her.

A few of your mom’s close friends were invited, along with the Chaneys which meant Sebastian was probably here too. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity if he knew you were coming.

As you fixed yourself a glass of wine, you overheard Tony go on about how well the photoshoot went and how impressed he was with your skills, making your father’s chest flare with pride for his favourite child. You heard him ask about someone named Pepper, which made Tony tense for a second, his eyes flitting over yours before he gave your father a brief answer.

“Hey! You made it!” a familiar voice made you turn around, staring back was Sebastian waiting to wrap you in a hug which he did before you had a chance to respond.

“I mean it is my Mom’s birthday, I had to.”

“Heard you came with Tony Stark.”

Of course.

“Uh yeah, I was at Stark tower for a photoshoot.” there was a tone of irritation in your voice, but Sebastian hadn’t caught on. It was like he chose to overlook each time you denied his advances.

“I’ll save you a spot for movie night.” he winked, giving your shoulder a squeeze before leaving you to your thoughts in the kitchen.

After cake and dinner, you grabbed extra pillows and blankets for everyone while Sebastian and your Dad arranged some chairs and beanbags in the living room. Sebastian had secured his spot on one corner of the sofa, already saving the seat next to him for you while you searched for Tony, somehow wanting to sit next to him.

Your phone rang, revealing it was Isabelle who was calling, making you excuse yourself to attend it in the kitchen. Filling her in on the latest updates, you poured yourself another glass of wine while Tony walked in shortly after, to have his refill of whiskey.

“Don’t be late.” he whispered against your ear as he passed, causing Izzy to gasp on the other side before she bombarded you with questions. When the call ended, you stopped in your tracks looking at the arrangement.

Your Mom and Dad sat on chairs laid just ahead of the couch, Sebastian sat on one side of the sofa while Tony sat on the other, both expectantly looking at you, having left a seat for you right in the middle.

This would be very interesting.

Movie nights always started with the first movie your parents saw together, on their first date. As the lights were turned out, you made yourself comfortable between the two men, crossing your legs on the table in front of the couch. There was ample space to accommodate three people on it and yet you had chosen to sit a little closer to Tony than Sebastian.

You stole glances on your left often, draping a blanket across your legs as it got a little colder, not realizing Tony was waiting for you to do just that.

The gasp that almost escaped your lips could have easily blown your cover but thankfully you realized it was only Tony whose hand had innocently made its way over to your thigh, gently grazing your skin there making your skirt ride up.

As it moved to skim across your inner thigh, you shot him a warning look only to be met with a smirk. Adjusting the blanket, you folded your other leg so it wouldn’t reveal what was going underneath as Tony’s fingers brushed over your clothed pussy.

“Told you I would return the favour somehow. Now, you can be quiet for me, can’t you?”

He leaned over to press his lips against your ear, while the others remained blissfully unaware of it. You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on the tv as he slid your underwear aside to feel your moist folds.

The grip you held on the soft blanket tightened as Tony dipped a finger inside your entrance, making your breath hitch. Slowly he dragged it along your walls, massaging them while his thumb toyed with your clit, reveling in your predicament.

If anyone were to turn their heads and look your way, it would mean trouble. But the thrill of it was unparalleled, here you were sitting with your family on movie night while being fingered under the blanket but none other than Tony Stark.

You almost let a moan slip out when he added another finger to the party, pumping it in and out of your drenched pussy. Your breathing was erratic and you prayed to God nobody would notice. But someone did.

Sebastian.

“You alright, Y/N?”

He whispered, placing a hand on your shoulder while Tony’s ministrations didn’t stop.

“Y-yeah I’m okay. Just watch the movie, Seb.” You managed to whisper back, gripping Tony’s right hand under the fabric as you felt yourself nearing the edge.

The movie worked in your favour as a fight ensued on the screen, loud blasts and punches echoed through the speakers, giving you enough cover as you let go, quietly whimpering as your orgasm washed over you, making you clench around Tony’s fingers.

“Such a good girl.” His praise sent tingles down your spine as he pressed a kiss against your hair. Tony retracted his fingers that were glistening with your arousal, adjusted your clothing and went back to focusing on the movie as if nothing had happened.

By the time credits rolled in, your father had already passed out, as had Sebastian, leaving you, Tony and your mother. She had convinced him to stay the night and leave in the morning as it was late & since he was your ride back, you would crash in your room too.

Which only meant one thing. The night wasn’t over yet.

Maybe it was the third glass of wine or the rush of adrenaline but once you were back in your room, you had put on skimpiest lingerie from your wardrobe and laid on your side.

The doorknob twisted and you heard the lock click shut softly, a presence that made your thighs clench stood behind you, taking in your form. Moonlight shone through your open window, casting an ethereal glow as you lay on your side, curves on display for the man who was drinking you in like a parched soul. Delicate lace that barely covered your bits made his pants constrict, you heard the bed dip under his weight before his arms went around you, pulling you back against him.

“Do you sleep like this everyday?”

His whisper made you press your ass against his crotch, looking over his shoulder you shook your head with a sly smile and reached back to palm his cock.

“Only for you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony cursed under his breath, his lips attached to your neck while cupping your breasts, pushing his erection against your hand. He could definitely get used to you calling him ’Mr. Stark’.

“See how hard you make me, sweetheart?”

You had to swallow a needy whimper as Tony’s fingers tweaked your nipples until they hardened and admired the way your body was so responsive to his touch. The effect he had on you was evident, goose pimples on flushed skin as his hands roamed over your flesh, desire pooled between your legs that had already ruined your panties.

Your head fell back as Tony found your wetness, grunting against your ear while gathering it on his fingers.

“So wet for me, princess.”

The act felt so incredibly thrilling, it was like a new kink had been unlocked. Walls were thin and you could get caught any time, and your parents weren’t the heaviest of sleepers.

In the quiet of your room, you could hear wet, squelching noises as Tony’s fingers stretched you open, making it harder and harder for you to not make a sound.

“Please..” you whimpered, the urgency in your voice made him chuckle.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me, Tony.”

He could come at the sight you like this alone, desperate and writhing under his touch.

“I don’t have a condom with me, sweetheart. You’ll have to take me bare.”

Oh you were more than ready for that.

You didn’t need words as you reached back to undo his zipper, making him nip at your skin playfully. Freeing his cock, Tony gave himself a few pumps, gathering the slick on his tip before lifting your leg slightly so he could take you from behind.

A deep sound reverberated from his chest as he bottomed out, sheathed in your tight warmth while you let out a wanton moan.

“Shh. We don’t want to get caught, do we?”

As he began to move, you gripped the sheets under you, meeting his thrust as it felt different this time around. You felt his cock dragging along your walls, the blunt tip brushing against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. The bed creaked and settled under the weight and movement as you let out yet another sigh, making Tony stuff your mouth with his fingers. You tasted your arousal on them, sucking on them needily as he impaled you, muffling the sounds you were making.

His muscles tensed and cock twitched, letting him know he was close as your walls fluttered around him, leaving you shuddering in his arms as you came.

“Fuck, Y/N. You did so well for me.” His breath was hot against your ear as you came down from your high, clenching around his length before he pulled out, squeezing the tip of his length right before he spilled his seed across your ass, painting your skin white with his warm cum.

Naughty smiles adorned your faces as you exchanged kisses, like horny teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. You hadn’t bothered to clean up while Tony tucked himself back in his pants, standing over you and giving you a little slap on your ass.

“Clean up, dirty girl.” he chided, walking out of your room and shutting the door behind him as sneakily as he had come in.

Your phone had run out of battery by the time Tony dropped you home. After a shower, you plugged it in and it began ringing with a thousand notifications, making you frown and check to see the source.

They were all from Izzy.

Opening the last one you took a seat on the couch, not realizing what a good decision it was to sit down as you read the message.

Y/N, where are you? Tony Stark is engaged to marry Pepper Potts. Call me.

…

It had been two hours since you spoke to Isabelle, processing the information that was dumped on you.

He was engaged. To a woman named Pepper Potts. You recalled your father mentioning her name the other night. A web search about her revealed she had started out as Tony’s assistant, worked very closely with him for years before she became an integral part of Stark Industries. She now worked closely with his business advisor and had apparently been dating her boss for longer than the media was even made aware.

He was engaged. And you had slept with him. Twice. The news was all over the internet after the announcement was made not too long ago. An official statement released to the press that sent the news channels in a frenzy and you into a shock.

Why had Tony kept this from you? Why hadn’t you asked it before getting involved? Why did it never occur to you? Why did he never bring it up? More importantly, what else was he lying about?

As if on cue, your phone rang. It was him. You watched it ring until it stopped, it happened a few more times. As much as you wanted answers, you couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. Angry. Even hurt.

Your phone buzzed again. He had sent you a message.

Let me explain this, Y/N. Please call me.

Reading it over and over, you paced about your living room, unsure of what to do. Izzy had been right. This was way too complicated.

Congratulations on your engagement Mr. Stark.

You hit send and turned your phone off, throwing it on the sofa before storming in your bathroom for a much needed bath. You need time to think. And you knew one thing for certain.

You needed to stay the hell away from Tony Stark.

#tony stark x female reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark smut #tony stark fluff #tony stark imagine #tony stark series #tony stark x you #tony stark #marvel fanfiction #the stark squad #an affair to remember #iron man x reader #iron man smut #iron man fanfiction #iron man #tony stark fic

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mushexpress · 8 months ago

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landing on gold — modernau!blade x gn!reader

summary — you get pulled in for a kiss. alternatively, what happens when you play spin the bottle at a college party and it lands on a certain blue-haired someone

content warnings (spoilers) — a bit ooc (it's an au!), slight steamy makeout session, tension, mentions of alcohol consumption, drinking game, suggestive language, the usual college party tv stuff

notes — 1k. this was supposed to have multiple endings with different reader x pairings but i only ended up writing blade's oopsie. wrote this in an early morning frenzy.

wake up, eat, study, exams and sleep. that was what all your days have consisted of for the past few weeks and you have been so sick of it. you spent most of the time tired or frustrated so you jumped at the first college party invite to celebrate the end of "hell" week.

aventurine knew how to throw a good party. the invite list wasn't so big that it made you nervous.. in fact, by the end of the night, it felt like an intimate party with people you were already familiar with — admittedly, some too much.

a few of you had found yourself in the host's bedroom, spacious but cozy, some were splayed on the king-sized bed or on the pair of green loveseats in the corner. you were fiddling with your empty plastic cup, sitting at the edge of the bed, remnants of alcohol sliding around at the bottom.

"finally, i think it's time." aventurine claps his hands together before ducking out of the room, a mischievous spring in his step. somebody groans behind you at the loud volume of the now absent man's voice.

it doesn't take long for him to return though, with an empty glass bottle of beer he probably snatched up from the floor or beside an upturned table.

"what is it?" you ask, almost sighing, discarding your cup onto the desk. it felt like the perfect time to wind down and you weren't sure if you were up for another one of aventurine's antics.

"well, i'm glad you asked my little gem," you raise your eyebrow at the affectionate nickname but he ignores your scepticism, "because everyone will be participating!" another round of groans sounds out but it catches everyone's attention anyway and you feel the buzz of anticipation circle the room. he has been a gracious host so far, making sure there was an endless supply of drinks while the mood was kept to a certain degree of good fun. and besides, none of you will be spending a dime tonight despite the copious amounts of alcohol consumed and it's thanks to aventurine — the least you could all do was listen to him.

"let's play a game, everyone form a circle now." slowly everybody gathers on the wood floor, heat gently touching your legs, the heating mats underneath it doing a fine job.

"now, everybody knows how to play spin the bottle... right?" a few nods and smiles in response and then you have the lightweight glass bottle in your hand.

"you first, little gem."

your heart is pounding in your ear and you're afraid everyone can hear it. are your lips dry? do you smell like alcohol? oh god, what if it lands on... questions race through your head and you're not sure if it's making you dizzy or if it's still just the alcohol pumping in your veins.

the bottle spins so quickly and slows just as fast and your eyes are wide as they slow to a stop in front of blade.

a low whistle from aventurine is enough to make you want to turn to him and punch him. "congratulations." you don't hear anything else as your eyes rise to meet blade's and you're stunned by how calm he looks, a stark contrast to the fast thump, thump, thump of your heartbeat.

you swallow hard, resisting the urge to wet your lips lest he thinks that you're actually nervous over this silly party game.

you're not sure what to do and you were hoping blade would do something other than just sit there and staring you with those eyes, a pair of molten gold that pinned you to the spot. it's not until he sits back, leaning on both of his palms in such a casual manner that you realise it's up to you to make the first move — you did spin the bottle.

trying to force even, quiet breaths into your lungs, you move and crawl towards him as he continues to watch you. blade's eyes flicker down for just a moment, watching the movement of your body before scanning your face once again.

"i'm sorry for this." you almost whisper the words but he only gives you a slow smile, eyes travelling and sticking to your lips like burning honey.

"don't say sorry." he finally says, his hand reaching up to cup the side of your face before his fingers slip into your hair. he holds the back of your head, giving your hair a slight tug so your face is tilted, both your lips so close together. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it makes you so drunk your eyes close as he eventually pulls you in.

his lips are hungry and greedy, and they melt against yours. isn't supposed to be just a kiss? but it's not unwelcomed and your hands scramble from the floor to his chest.

"shit." he murmurs and you swallow the words and the sting of hard liquor straight from his mouth as you both hit the ground, blade losing his balance. but you both don't pull away, his hand still holding you in place, and you feel electricity jolt down your body and pool there.

"we should record this." you pull away at the sound of aventurine's idea but instead of confronting the blond-haired boy, your eyes lock back with blade's.

he's a sight to behold. face flushed and panting, his cheeks are a blushing red, his lips shining from the sloppy make-out session and you feel his body rising up then down against you.

but despite all of that, it's his eyes that catch you once again, half-obscured by his fringe as they seem to have turned a few shades darker with something more than just plain lust. you could only describe it as desire and that look shoots itself into your core, making you ache with need that you know he feels too.

"come on guys, it's only the first spin." aventurine scolds, motioning for the both of you to stand up and collect yourselves but blade, again, refuses to move. he senses your hesitancy too and as his breathing calms, his hand tickles the small of your back.

"let's find a room?" all you could do was nod, hiding your face from the others as they watched in awe, both of you hurrying off in search of a private place.

#hsr blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #blade x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr blade #blade hsr #blade x y/n #mushfics

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dreadfutures · 5 months ago

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Blue's DA4 Screenshot Binge Pt. 3

CAMEOS CAMEOS CAMEOS

I just wanna say FUCK YES i was right, we get everyone from Tevinter Nights

Evka Ivo - Tevinter Nights, Short Stories, The Missing

Fighting against Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain with other Wardens: that there in the center with her buns and her hammer is EVKA. I assume we may have also seen Antoine but I didn't really see an archer anywhere.

They are my favorite and I demand more fics with them.

Irelin - Tevinter Nights, Short Stories, The Missing

Our favorite shape shifting Veil Jumper with DAI's June vallaslin is back:

ANDARATEIA CANTORI/VIAGO DE RIVA - Tevinter Nights, Short Stories, The Missing

God I would have rioted if we didn't get them. I am pretty sure big haired elf crow here is Teia, and mustachio'd crow is Vi.

Mourn Watch - Tevinter Nights

I really wonder if the two we see in Emmrich's shot are Audric and Myrna <3 (pleased I want to hug audric so badly pleeeease)

MOMIGAN

I just want to say I never doubted Morrigan would be in DA4, I figured since she was going to be a smaller role she might have fewer lines and not need to be hired super early like when she was first asked and said she hadn't been asked yet.

Mom cut her hair into a respectable A-line cut, and I think her hair is graying and she has mouth creases ;w; she has never looked more beautiful to me. Rocking her same arm sleeve, wrist feather, necklace... and her mother's helmet.

People were confused at first, thinking it was her sister, Yavana, from Those Who Sleep - who wears a dragon skull as her helmet in a very similar style!

But it's Morrigan <3

I'm going to make a few more guesses:

Zara Renata?

At the end of Wigmaker Job, Magister Zara Renata, a blood mage Venatori Magister who uses her slaves to keep herself perpetually beautiful, implies she's going to lure Lucanis in and destroy him. Maybe she's the one he's fighting against here:

They are in distinctly Tevinter ruins I think, and it looks like maybe Teia? is on the stairs.

Felassan? Please? God? For me? FOR MJ???

In a nest of some kind, with these sacks of white growth that seem to be consuming corpses, there are tentacles wrapped around an elf who is not looking so hot.

Their face is streaked with dark veins like a ghoul. They're wearing some kind of armor - seems like it might have triangles on it, perhaps a Veil Jumper. Their hair is pulled back sharply with a tight buzz on the sides.

Please, god? Please? My husband?

But also: concept art Solas, as much as I hate white guys with dreads:

My money remains on Felassan.

#da4 spoilers #da4 speculation #da4 hype #release date trailer #long post #dread da4 hype

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polskasroka · 3 months ago

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A humble offering from me to you, fellow odydio enjoyers

Book 5 of the Iliad inspired me to write it (along with Sleep Token's Chokehold, which is quite a combination)

Test My Worth in Blood

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Iliad - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Diomedes/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Characters: Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Additional Tags: Body Horror, Flashbacks, Blood, Blood Play, Smut, Spit As Lube, Choking, POV Diomedes, diomedes has seen things, inspired by book 5, odysseus won't shut up Summary: You wish the gift from the goddess had worn off by now. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You certainly hadn’t asked for being able to still see and hear the blood of your comrades. Then, there’s a flicker. A sound, a bright clink. You realise which tent it came from.

Word count: 3,626

Read on AO3 or below!

You have seen what mortals aren’t supposed to ever see. A blessing or a curse from bright-eyed Athena, it’s difficult to tell. At least now. At the time, it seemed to be a blessing, a gift straight from the Goddess of Wisdom herself. One that turned you into a godling. One that, if only you dare claim so, made you equal to the best of the Greeks.

Once the battle ended, however, the power didn’t cease completely. It’s still there. Still here, buzzing within your head. Humming in your ears. Making your eyes sting whichever direction you look. Blinding and deafening you with the occasional sight and sound of the blood running through the veins of those around you.

Indeed, you may be hidden in the safety of your tent. In your solitude, you’re accompanied by the candlelight illuminating the space around you. The flickers bouncing off the spear tips and armour and then springing into the fabric of the tent. It would be serene if not for the unexpected buzzing coming from the left. And then from the right. And then from somewhere vaguely in front of you.

The dull branches of crimson show up in the distance only to die off a second or two later. The boring red burns your eyes in the darkness and you seek respite in the dimmest spot you can stare at. This doesn’t always help, so you close your eyes. And yet, you can still hear the murmuring of blood gently flowing through the vessels. The sound like an attack against your ears.

You are not supposed to hear that. You are not supposed to see that.

A blessing turned a curse.

You wish the gift from the goddess had worn off by now. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You certainly hadn’t asked for being able to still see and hear the blood of your comrades. Granted, it’s not as overwhelming as before but it’s making you restless, even though you’re nowhere near falling asleep.

Frowning, you grit your teeth until your jaw hurts. Gripping the desk, you leave indents in the wood with your blunt nails. You’d flip this desk over if you knew it’d kill the humming.

Then, there’s a flicker. A sound, a bright clink. Involuntarily, the muscles in your ear flex. You flinch. Tired though you are, your curiosity takes over and you lift your head in search for the source of the sound.

As if to annoy you, everything’s fallen dead silent. You huff. Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe you can finally lay down and rest. Maybe you can finally go to sleep and recover from all you’ve seen and heard today. Maybe the sight of the gods’ pulsating veins will not haunt your dreams.

But just as you turn around, you catch the glimpse of the bright golden spark once more. It’s gone as soon as you focus on it. You realise which tent it came from.

You know you shouldn’t go and investigate. You know it’s not a good idea, for it’s been a long day for everyone. Especially for you.

A blessing turned a curse or not, you also shouldn’t dismiss the signs that the gods give you. What’s more, under no circumstances should you reject the kind signs that Lady Athena grants you. She’s your guide, she knows what’s best for you. Now that all the other bubbling and flowing has been muted, you’re left with that single one — one occasionally glimmering with godlike gold.

It’s dark outside when you step out into the night. Knowing better than that, you stifle the candle before you venture out and let yourself be led by the one with gleaming eyes. There’s no use fighting it, you’re painfully aware of that. It’s not without a reason that it’s his blood that you’re able to sense.

On your way, you pass a couple of drunk and slumbering soldiers without making a sound and rousing them up. If there happen to be others that you stumble upon, you choose to hide in the shadow. No need to pique anyone’s interest now. The grey-eyed one’s attention is enough.

There’s no need to sneak. No need to try to muffle the footsteps. Others are fast asleep and if they’re not, they’ll stay vigilant but will not be able to tell who it was lurking around the camp. Maybe they’ll try to find a spy. Or they’ll send someone to spy on the Trojans in return.

But, just in case, you mutter a quiet prayer to the Lady Athena to conceal and mask your steps.

You’re certain that Odysseus can already hear you approaching. He’s had time to memorise the way you walk, it’s been ten years after all. So you don’t announce yourself.

You won’t startle him, despite him leaning over his desk. There may be a light flickering from the inside of his tent but it’s not his shadow that’s sold his whereabouts. It’s the split-second glimpse into the inside of his body, into the countless blood vessels carrying the liquid that should be of that dull shade of red. But it’s not. You’ve noticed it before — Odysseus’ blood is everything but opaque. It shines when you’re allowed to see it. It shines a brighter tone of red and then there’s that clink, the little jingle of golden sparks dancing through his veins.

No matter how much your eyes sting every time the glimmer reflects in them, you can’t go back and retreat. You’re drawn to this godlike albeit elusive flare. You’re drawn to the man who’s appeared to be worthy enough for the daughter of Zeus to lend him her guidance.

Led by the evasive glow, you enter the tent. The lit candle’s still casting its warm light over the papers spread on the desk and swirls in the metal of an armour and spear and arrow tips. You shake your head.

“Out of everyone, you, crafty Odysseus, should use your wit and come up with something that would surprise me for once,” you state, bored, a dagger poking you in the back.

“Were it someone else, they would be surprised. That is to say the least, Tydeides.”

Rolling your eyes, you wait for the blade’s tip to stop trying to make a hole in your chiton. Hopeful that it won’t require mending, you follow Odysseus with your gaze as he rounds you to stand before you. He leans against the desk and folds his arms.

“May I ask what brings you here at this hour?” he says, not requiring an answer. He’s got all the answers anyhow. “So keen to see me, could that be it? Or maybe, if you’d be so kind to share, could it be that you’re unable to survive one night without me?”

The corner of his lips quirks up and the moment he stops speaking, you squint. This divine flicker is not the same when you’re in his near proximity. Not dimmed by the distance and the tents, the spark beams brightly; so brightly that you can’t help but whip your head to the side to control the damage that wouldn’t be done regardless.

“Meanwhile you, in turn, seem unable not to flatter yourself anytime you have a chance, Laertiades,” you say, fooling yourself into thinking that calling him like this will bother him. It won’t. With smouldering anger inside, you watch a chuckle shake his body.

“Ah, but in your company, dear Diomedes, I should not be particularly worried about the lack of flattery, now should I?”

You exhale a huff through your nose that immediately brings a triumphant smile onto Odysseus’ lips. You won’t tell him he’s right. Even if your words fail you, which they tend to do in his presence, you flatter him with actions. Odysseus may have the gift of shrewdness but he won’t surpass your blessing of non-verbal affection. Of that you are certain.

“The grey-eyed goddess’ guidance has led me here.” Not that you could resist it.

“Ha! The Goddess of Wisdom has lured you here under the cover of the peace-bringing Night, it appears to me. A coincidence it cannot be!” Odysseus announces jovially and swings his hand in the air. “Come closer.”

Without hesitation, you obey. Now both you and Odysseus are staring at the reports and maps splayed atop the desk. Some of them you’ve seen before. A couple of them are more recent than others. There’s also a drawing that Odysseus pulls on top of everything. Your eyes are glued to it and you’re thankful for that — there’s that golden shine to Odysseus’ blood again. You see those branching vessels with the corner of your eye. The brightness nearly overwhelms you.

“What in the name of the gods is this?” you ask, frowning.

“A horse.”

“A horse?”

“It’s not just a horse, Diomedes. It’s a wooden horse.”

You lock your eyes with his when he says that and it’s a mistake. His veins flash golden again and you hear the humming of his blood flow. It vibrates in your ears and you clench your fists, crumpling up a paper or two.

“If you don’t mind, oh great tactician, I fail to see how it makes this horse any better. I’d say it being wooden is bound to make things worse,” you dare, although you’re quite sure it’ll bring even more pain onto your eyes.

Odysseus tsks. “That I shall tell once the right time comes.”

Your eyes feel as if someone’s trying to blind you with a hot metal rod. The thumping of blood fills your ears as the shiny sparkles submerged in the royal crimson glimmer. It’s like Helios managed to bring some of his light into the permeating darkness of the Night.

“You see, my dear Diomedes, I wish I could—”

“Silence.”

“Please, forgive me, but I do not quite understand. Weren’t you the one who needed clarification as to why a wooden horse is better than any other one?”

“Odysseus.” The anger inside you is now much closer to blazing than only smouldering.

Despite that, you manage to spot the grey streaks in his overall brown eyes. All this planning that he’s been doing… Lady Athena must’ve been assisting him one way or another.

“Diomedes…” He lifts his hand. “Your eyes.”

“Shut up!”

This is the last straw. Or the next blazing flash is.

You swipe his hand away and press your own against his mouth, effectively keeping him quiet. Finally.

Odysseus looks at you in frustrated confusion, his brows knit together. He tries to push your hand away by grabbing your forearm but you don’t relent. Since this hasn’t worked, he takes a step back and with little struggle, he sets himself free from your grip. You let it pass. You choose to wait. Observe. Decide.

“My most trusted tool and weapon — ripped away! By none other than an ally of mine! My dear Diomedes!” Odysseus cries, one hand on his chest; he’s glowering at you.

You glower back at him. “Cut the theatrics. And don’t tempt me.”

There’s a spark in his eye, now more brown than brown-grey. One that doesn’t scorch your whole vision. One that you’ve seen before and grown to enjoy seeing.

“You wouldn’t even dare, Tydeides,” he says, straightening up, his back cracking at the sudden movement.

“Oh?” Standing tall too, you pierce Odysseus with your own gaze.

You take a step towards him. He takes a step away from you. “Is that what you think, oh wise Odysseus?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise.”

“In this case, maybe I finally should?”

He squints at you, a challenging smirk plastered on his face. You take a couple more steps towards him. He keeps backing away.

“Scared?”

“Not at all.”

“Why not stop then?” You say and clear your throat.

“So that you’re pleased? Oh, Diomedes! Master of the war cry must have something more effective planned already.”

You scowl but say nothing. Instead, you keep walking until the backs of Odysseus’ legs hit the bed. Only then does he stop. He appears to be standing even straighter now, his chest pushed forward and hands on his hips. A laughable sight, really. At least in comparison to how you’re looming over him. You’d be a liar if you said that you don’t like it.

That smirk of his is distorted by a split-second tremble of his lip as you grab him by his throat; your fingers snugly wrapped around that vulnerable area. A hum rumbles somewhere within there and the vibrations travel onto your hand. You draw closer. As if unfazed by the short-lived squeeze of your hand, Odysseus just looks up at you.

“You won’t kill me,” he says, fuelling your rage. “No matter how much you want to right now.”

“I will.”

“You won’t. But, oh gods above and below! How glorious it would be to die at the hands of the son of Tydeus!” he continues, both of his hands on your forearm. Stroking, scratching. Raising chills.

A growl bubbles in your chest.

“All high and mighty but so woefully predictable,” Odysseus muses on, ignoring the tightening around his neck. Quite impressive, you have to admit that. “Always using all the wit you possess until all’s said and done and said wit’s dead and gone. Always because of me.”

Odysseus chokes on the last words of his little tirade. A smirk tilts your lips as you feel him dig his nails into your hand. He’s right and you hate that. So you’re making him pay.

He tries to take a ragged breath but his airways fail him, crushed under your fingers. Your own contentment leaves you in a form of a low murmur and you hold Odysseus in your grip until a grimace creeps onto his face and the colour of his swarthy skin starts turning pale.

Only then do you let him go and collapse onto the bed.

He gasps for air, hand on his heaving chest, the other clutching the furs. As soon as he peers up, still short of breath, you’re already there, lending him some air in the kiss that you press against his lips. Anything to keep him silent, anything to keep him from his constant rambling — one full of empty words that have fooled hundreds of men.

They must’ve fooled you too but you’re too lost in how your lips seem to never leave his. You’re on top of him already. Clawing at his clothes, you manage to rip them apart in the process. You hum in satisfaction again. He grunts in discontentment.

“Stop whining, Laertiades. This is your tent,” you say before he can. Your own chiton’s soon gone too. “Open a chest and find something else to wear later.”

“The chest you’re speaking of is not a bottomless one, I’m afraid. Would you believe that?”

The light tone of the question hides the malice that you know is there. You’ve known Odysseus long enough to recognise such moments. Apart from that, his fiery eyes are telling you everything. You’ve seen that glare-gaze plenty of times before. You can’t quite tell if it’s more irritating or arousing.

It’s most likely both.

Thus, it’s a matter of seconds before you’re all over him. The non-verbal flattery in its full glory.

Your hands roam over the dips, plains and mounds of his body. Your eyes follow the traces that your fingers make, hypnotised, transfixed. And then, just as Odysseus scratched your forearm, you graze your nails against his skin. Red welts soon arise and he trembles underneath you. You add more pressure. He grunts. You dig harder and harder. He hisses.

You draw blood.

A quiet moan tumbles out of your mouth. You dive in to lick the skin that you’ve just broken. You see a delicate shimmer of gold but taste iron. Sheer iron, just as you always do. Nothing’s changed.

Odysseus squirms again and you hold him down with your bloody hands. You stain his flanks with his own blood and gather the trickling droplets onto your tongue. The more you taste it, the more light-headed you feel.

In your daze, you bite down on Odysseus’ flesh, right next to the fresh wounds you’ve caused. He swears and you think he tries to push you away but, in fact, he’s holding you, so that you won’t even think about leaving him. With one of his hands in your hair and the other on your shoulder, he might be drawing you closer too, until you’ve got his blood smeared not only over your mouth but also chin and nose.

With the corner of your eye, you see the displeasured look on Odysseus’ face as you spit into your palm. You send him a scowl. You can’t wait anymore. And he should be used to your impatience by now. He whines and acts as if he were any more patient than you, while you are convinced that he isn’t. Or that he enjoys you hurting him. The latter is certain, though.

He tries to slow you down and push you away out of an instinct. He told you so himself. And he also instructed you to ignore that unless he said otherwise. So you comply because why wouldn’t you? The way his expression changes — his brows furrow, his eyes close shut, his lips turn into a thin line — only encourages you to bury yourself inside until the hilt. A wavering sigh escapes your lungs.

You ignore Odysseus clawing at your arms and shoulders. With your face buried in his neck, you start your back and forth. It’s painstakingly rhythmical at the beginning. You love it this way. You love to feel the tight fit gradually become perfect.

It’s you who’s holding onto Odysseus now. Once in a while, a grunt slips past your lips and fans over his neck or jaw. You grunt again, slightly increasing the pace and then you shudder. The chills continue as Odysseus smooths the skin on your arms and shoulders instead of trying to break the skin. He runs his right hand upwards, giving your nape a slight squeeze. Eventually, he cards through your hair with his fingers while his other hand’s lying flat on your back. He attempts to grip each time you strike that sweet spot inside of his gut.

Your hips buck at one of his scrapes over your scalp. You wail and quickly bite your lip.

“What truly brings you here, dearest Diomedes?” Odysseus mutters next to your ear. You can’t know if he really cares but you choose to think so.

“I’ve seen things, Odysseus.” You swallow. “I’ve seen the gods.”

“Why, everyone’s seen a god in their life!”

“Not like that,” you growl and grant him a couple of rough thrusts that have him choke on his breath. “I’ve seen them… from within. I’ve seen so much light, Laertiades, it was so bright, golden. Yet, it didn’t blind me. The goddess came to my aid. She made it last. She made me fight the gods.”

Odysseus hugs you closer to himself, your hair in his tight and protective grip. You speed up, losing your perfect rhythm. You don’t care and neither does he.

“I’ve fought the gods,” you babble on. “She guided me, she enlightened me. Odysseus, the blood of the gods… It’s not… Everyone else — their veins… so red and dull… muddy almost. Not the gods’. Live and liquid gold, they were!” you moan into juncture of Odysseus’ neck and jaw.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shield yourself from the memory of how brightly the gods shone on the battlefield. The glow warmed your feverish skin.

You moan again, feeling that warmth now. In the heat of the moment, you grab Odysseus by his hips to lift the lower part of his body up. The change of the angle punches a low groan out of his lungs.

You cling to the warmth. You let it embrace you.

“Your blood…”

“Hm? What about it?” Odysseus mutters, tugging on your hair.

“It’s not dull nor muddy.”

You see the divine glow again. The golden sparks inside Odysseus. They illuminate the whole tent. The sharp light stings your eyes, although they’re closed. You know this sheen outlines Odysseus’ body. You can feel it on his skin. You can feel the heavenly heat melt onto you and spread through your being, and fill your own veins with specks of pure gold.

Darkness is what you see when your eyes flutter open. It then transforms into a dance of shadows that you notice with the corner of your eye as you nose at Odysseus’ neck. You inhale and let out a long exhale as you feel him rake his fingers through your hair.

What you need is to rest your head on top of Odysseus’ chest if you don’t want your neck to be all stiff and aching tomorrow. So, you lift your head and spare him a glance. It gives him enough time to hold your face between his hands. He rubs the skin under your eyes with his thumbs.

“You’re back.”

It’s one of those rare moments when Odysseus smiles a genuine smile of joy and contentment. The corners of his eyes crinkle up.

“I’ve been with you the whole time,” you reply, confused.

“You aren’t that dense, so quit the act,” he chuckles.

Odysseus then grows more serious.

“A man without proper reason wouldn’t have been chosen to fight the gods themselves. You were, oh godlike Diomedes. My bright-eyed Diomedes.”

Fondness. It’s fondness that you’ve just heard. Pure fondness from the man of twists and turns.

He’s genuine. His words are the truth. Your own escape you.

You understand why he pointed out your eyes earlier.

#the iliad #diomedes #odysseus #odydio #odysseus x diomedes #tagamemnon

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