#I guess in the same way that breathing is too

[emchante]

okay okayy from your prompt list would you consider using “ghosting their lips against yours before pulling back with a smug smirk, making you chase them desperately” and “pulling them closer by their belt” with franco?

crossing the line - f.c

masterlist | requesting rules

prompts: “ghosting their lips against yours before pulling back with a smirk” + “pulling them closer by the belt”

summary: after a long day together, you and franco relax in his apartment. there’s been an unspoken attraction between you both, and it finally bubbles over.

WARNINGS: nothing extreme or nsfw, gentle teasing and a make-out.

w.c. 1.2k+

a/n hii all! here’s a little franco blurb as a treat (esp for @yauchfilms !!) this is my first time writing for him, so i hope you all enjoy. more franco will definitely be on the way. let me know your thoughts via asks/anons, comments or reblogs. <3

it had been a long day. you were currently with franco, lounging in his apartment as what seemed to be indie music hummed softly from his speaker. the lights were dim, casting a warm glow throughout the room that helped bring the more relaxed vibe you were both going for.

it felt comfortable, natural— just the two of you winding down together like you usually did after a packed day. but today, it felt different.

in fact lately, there had been an undercurrent of something else.

it was in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, or in the way he let his hands linger a little longer than considered friendly when he brushes past you. something unspoken, something that’s been quietly building between you both, as if waiting for a spark to set it off.

you weren’t certain about it all, though. it was no secret amongst your social group that you were infatuated with the boy. you feared your own feelings were deluding you, maybe making things up in your mind and justifying it because you had felt the same way.

“you’re staring at me,” franco murmured, interrupting your train of thought. you noticed how his lips quirked up into a smirk at your reaction, and you shook your head with a small smile.

he wasn’t wrong, you were staring at him while deep in thought. it was hard not to though, you felt the need to study his face and the way the light casted shadows upon it.

you wouldn’t admit it to him, though.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, allowing the words to fall freely from your lips. “please, i’ve had to see it long enough today,” referring to the fact you’d been glued to each others sides the full day. “you wish.”

franco chuckled, leaning back against the sofa, as he stretched his arm in that casual, teasing way of his. “well, maybe i do.”

it was only a few seconds before you felt his hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer towards him. you didn’t object of course, allowing yourself to be moved farther into him.

his words hung between the both of you, heavier than you expected them to. it was very franco of him to drop small hints like these, leaving you second guessing yourself as usual. but this time, he didn’t pull back. instead, he continued to state into your eyes, an almost.. challenging glint within them. you felt the heat rising to your cheeks, a flutter of anticipation mixed with nerves.

you furrowed your brows at him, biting the inside of your cheek to steady yourself before you spoke up. “don’t start something you’re not going to finish, franco.”

“oh?” he raised his brows, tilting his head lightly to the side and you could see the playful spark light up in his expression. franco leaned in closer, beginning to close the distance between you, his face inches from yours. his voice dropped to a whisper as he murmured, “what if i do, corazona?”

your heart was pounding, each beat echoing in your chest as his breath mingled with your own. the closeness along with the term of endearment.. it was beginning to get a little too much. your eyes widened slightly as you watched his gaze flick to your lips before he licked his own, moving his eyes to peer back to yours.

you could barely breathe normally, so much so that the rhythm had become more labored subconsciously as you got caught up in your mind.

you began to lean in, eyes beginning to close as you got ready to settle into the kiss— but it never even happened.

franco had pulled back, smirk painted across his face as mischief lit up his gaze. the teasing lingered in the air, his retreat sparking more frustration within you. he looked so pleased with himself, and you knew he was, the chuckles and comments about the moment were enough to let you know. however, with your frustration came something else— adrenaline.

before you had time to think about it your hand was reaching forward, and you grabbed franco by the belt. your fingers curled into the fabric as you pulled him towards you, and it completely wiped the smirk off of his face. it was now franco with the widened eyes and shocked expression, which in turn made you smirk.

there was no time for teasing or dwelling on it though, as you moved your hands up to grab onto his shirt collar before pulling him down to meet your lips.

franco melted into the kiss instantly, moving his from from your shoulder as his hand moved to your face and cupped your cheek. the kiss was soft at first, tentative, like you were both savoring the taste of the moment, this leap of friendship into something more.

the restraint didn’t last long, though.

the months of tension, the quiet looks, the playful banter— it rushed forward all at once, sweeping you both up as the kiss deepened. it slow and intense, every touch adding to the moment. franco’s free hand slid around your waist to your back, pulling you right onto his lap.

you pulled away from the kiss momentarily, resting your forehead against his own. funnily enough, it was franco who was now chasing your lips. he cursed under this breath as he opened his eyes, a small smile on his face.

one of your hands made its way up into franco’s hair, combing your fingers through the back of it as you both sat in silence for a moment longer.

“it was about time,” franco muttered, swallowing thickly as a small chuckle escaped his lips. you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you sighed at him.

you didn’t bother entertaining his teasing, simply muttering a “shut up” before your lips were back onto his. this kiss became heated much faster than anticipated. you tugged in franco’s hair, which caused a small moan to escape him before his tongue swiped along your bottom lip.

he moved his hand from your face to join his other at your waist for a few moments, before they trailed down to your ass. you pulled back the tiniest bit, muttering “watch yourself” before you leaned back in to continue.

your kisses were hungry, a rhythm of urgency and need, franco’s mouth hot and insistent against yours. you angled your face to continue deepening the kiss, as one of your hands moved to his jaw, holding it tightly.

after a few more moments of the heated makeout, you both pulled back— breathless with swollen lips. you licked your lips as you breathed heavily, trying to steady it back into its normal pace.

franco stared at you in slight awe at what had just happened, he had never expected you would be the one to finally initiate it. it was something he could get used to, though. and he didn’t have to dream about it for long.

within 30 minutes, you were both back in the frenzy of kissing each other like it was vital, like you’d lose each other if you stopped.

[vivwritesfics]

The Devil Dances With A Smile

Chapter Two

He can't kill you. He can't bring himself to lay a hand on you. So, he falls for you instead (its a shame his employer really wants you dead)

Hitman!Max x reader

Chapter One

The teachers lounge was rarely a good place to nap. Somebody was always yapping about something. On any day but today, that would have been Max. Yapping at Charles, who would yap back. 

Today, though, he was far too tired to yap. He laid his head down on the table, his energy drink forgotten in front of him. The teachers lounge was the only place he could enjoy his much needed energy drinks, especially if he didn't want the kids to see. 

"You look like shit," Charles muttered as he joined him, sipping his coffee. 

Max looked up only to glare. He quickly laid his head back onto the table and shut his eyes. 

"Jim and Sass keep you up again?" 

Oh, that was right. Back when he and Charles first started their jobs, Jimmy and Sassy were his excuse for everything. It was better that way, though. If Charles knew what he was really doing, he'd never look at him the same way. 

"Just let me sleep, Charlie," Max mumbled through a yawn. 

Leaning back, Charles sipped his coffee, but he said nothing more. He kept his eye fixed on Max, just watching him. When the bell went, he woke Max up. Snapped his fingers in front of his face to make him just a little more alert and sent him in the direction of his classroom. 

Mac moved through the day like a zombie. He barely got through it, his only aid being the red bull he kept hidden in his thermos. 

The thing about Max was that he hated coffee. Last night had been a charade; he hid every grimace behind what he hoped was a charming smile. When you topped him up for a second cup, he guessed that it worked. 

Still, he wouldn't be ordering another from you. But he would be going back. Research, he told himself. To find out why somebody would want you killed. Were you really that bad a person? So bad that somebody was willing to pay a lot of money to see you dead at his hands? He just couldn't see it. 

The school day came and went as it always did. Max stayed behind and tidied his classrooms. Put the text books back on the shelves and picked up paper left behind by the students. 

A drawing. He knew immediately which student had done it. A talented artist who had spent the lesson drawing him and Mr Leclerc from history locking lips. 

Chuckling to himself, Max shoved the drawing into his drawer. He grabbed his bag, the Red Bull disguised in his coffee thermos, and headed out. 

Max had never dreaded going to his second job before, not since his first day. But tonight? Tonight was different. 

For the first time ever, he hadn't completed the job. 

He moved slowly as he got himself showered and changed, making dinner for himself and feeding the cats. Jimmy and Sassy fussed around his legs, and Max took his time to give them attention, putting off the inevitable. 

Christian was gonna have his ass. 

Tying his shoelaces took longer than normal, but that was because he was stopping every few seconds to give his cats kisses. “I love you both,” he assured them, running his hand along Jimmy's back and up his tail. “If daddy doesn't make it home, uncle Charles is gonna take care of you, okay?” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and headed out the door. 

Never before had Max wished for traffic. Never before had he wished for his commute to his second job to take longer than the usual twenty minutes. 

But it felt all too soon that he pulled into his parking space. He sat there for several minutes, making sure he had everything that he needed. Keys, wallet, phone. All already in his pocket. Convenient. 

He forced his brain to think up the worst that Christian could say and do as he walked towards his office. Shoot him dead was the worst he could do, tell him he's fired was the worst he could say. 

Max sucked in a breath. He pushed down the handle and opened the door, letting himself into the office. If he was a weaker man, his legs would have been buckling as he approached the desk. 

"Your target is still alive."

Max nodded as he sucked in a breath. "I know," he said. "But she's tricky," he finished. 

Christian blinked at him. "She's a waitress," he replied. "Can't you shoot her dead when she's behind the counter?" 

A sigh left his lips. "Just trust me, Christian, it's not that simple. She's got colleagues and customers, people  that care about her. I can't just kill her there; I've got to gain her trust first." 

Christian levelled him with a look. Unimpressed, but accepting. "Fine. Just get it done," he said and sent Max on his way. 

He couldn't keep putting it off, he thought as he drove towards the café. He immediately spotted you, clearing the tables by the window. He watched you pause and look out across the lamp lit street. 

Climbing out of the car, Max started towards the café. His mouth was dry as the bell above the door rang, signalling his arrival. 

You looked up as the bell rang, a smile splitting across your face. "Well hey, stranger," you said, your grin widening. Any more and your face would have hurt. 

"Nice to see you again," Max said as he slipped into the nearest seat. 

You leaned against the table. It wasn't like you were trying to flirt, trying so hard to appeal to him. But it was working. Your pretty eyes, your pretty smile. He could have stayed here all day staring at you. 

You took his order, just a coffee. But you threw in a pastry for him, a treat, on the house. 

For the first hour, Max sat there. As much as he wanted to talk to you, you were too busy working him to give him the attention that he wanted. But you met his eye, gave him a warm smile as you cleaned the rest  of the cafe. 

Finally, you leaned against the table once again, your palm flat as you angled your body towards him. "So, what? Are you stalking me or something?" 

For a moment, Max panicked. But then you laughed and his entire body relaxed. "It's not every night you meet a pretty girl in a dingy café," he replied and your cheeks heated up. The little 'no offense' he added at the end was so endearing, you couldn't help but slip into the seat. 

Max was easy to talk to, but you knew that from the day before. He showed you pictures of his cats, telling you all about them until you got called into the kitchen to run food. 

As soon as table 43 had their food, you returned to Max's table. "I still don't get what you're doing here," you said to him, not bothering to sit down this time. You only had five minutes left on the clock. "You're a teacher, a local one. You don't get the train anywhere, so why are you here?" 

His face was bright red and he pushed his hair back, swallowing. "The first time, I was just looking for something to drink. I came in today because I wanted to see you," he confessed, scratching at the back of his neck. 

You checked your watch. "Let me clock out, and then you can walk me to the bus stop again." 

Before you could walk away, before you could get changed and walk back towards him, Max grabbed your arm. Your immediate instincts had you quickly pulling out of his grip and taking two steps back. 

Max dropped his hand. He didn’t say anything, didn’t call out your behaviour. Instead, he fished his car keys from his jacket pocket. “Or I could drive you home, if you like.”

He didn’t drive you home that night. But he did walk you to the bus stop again. You stood closer to him than you would to any of your other customers. “I want to take you out at some point,” he said, staring down at you. The bus was pulling up, he only had a few seconds. “On a date.”

You didn’t gasp, you weren’t surprised. But your cheeks still heated up. “Tomorrow,” you said and smoothed down his jacket. “We’ll arrange it tomorrow.”

Max watched as you stepped onto the bus and paid for your ticket. He watched as you sat somewhere near the back. 

As soon as the bus pulled away, Max headed back towards the car. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, swiping his thumb across the screen to answer it. “Soon, Christian,” he said, before Christian had the chance to say anything to him. “She’ll be dead soon.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he climbed into the car. 

Christian paused for a moment. An anxiety inducing moment. ‘Lando is gonna take on the job’, that was what he was ready for him to say. “Our employer wants her dead within the next two weeks. Get on with it.”

The call ended and Max dropped his phone onto the centre console. A sigh left his lips and he began to drive, heading in the direction of the bus. There weren’t many occasions that called for Max to tail a bus, and it wasn’t all that easy. Every time the bus stopped at a stop, he parked where he could until the bus moved on. 

But then you got off of the bus and began your walk. As you got off of the bus, Max parked his car and climbed out. He followed you, ducking behind bins and bushes. You didn’t turn around, had no idea you were being followed. 

You weren’t expecting any sort of danger. Maybe it made you naive. You had no idea of the danger you were in. Max kept following you until you made it to your apartment complex. The sun was rising, the streets no longer dark. 

You were in so much danger, so much fucking danger. Max swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t let anything happen to you, he knew that much.

a/n: part two! it actually feels so good to be working on a series again. for those that don't know, i'm currently working on a lestappen werewolf series (that i hope to have posted in the next week) so keep an eye out for that!

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[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 31: "I've got you"

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Imagining Spencer as the unit chief drives me feral, and this is kinda hurt/comfort, but I hope you like it.

I'm sorry it's been a few more days, but I needed a break from everything urgently. Anyway, here it is! Thanks for making it this far, see you next year ;)

For weeks, Spencer Reid had been temporarily filling the role of unit chief. He still felt a bit uncomfortable in this position, more accustomed to contributing his knowledge than leading. However, with each new case, his responsibility towards the team—and especially towards you—became clearer. He wasn’t just your mentor in an academic sense, but also in a professional one, and he felt a connection that went beyond mere work. Spencer had become someone who wanted to protect you, not just guide you.

That’s why, when the preliminary analysis of the case indicated that the victim they had just found at the crime scene was someone close to you, he felt an uncontrollable urge to keep you away from that situation. He remembered all too well what it felt like to lose someone dear in such a violent way and didn’t want you to have to face that same shattering reality.

You were already walking toward the yellow tape, ready to help decipher the modus operandi of the killer you were chasing, when he quickly approached you, his expression grave and full of concern. He wasn’t going to give you the chance to resist; he had decided that the best course of action was to pull you back, to shield you from the pain before it was too late.

“You’re off this case,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an authority he rarely used with you.

“What? Why?” you protested, frowning. “Why are you asking me this, Reid? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He shook his head, his face serious, his gaze trying to persuade you without words. The idea of letting you see that was unbearable to him. He already knew it wasn’t a guess; it was a hard truth, difficult to digest and even harder to accept. He felt his fingers tense, his hands fighting the urge to physically hold your shoulders, to restrain you with the strength he needed to keep you from facing that devastating sight.

“Listen to me. This isn’t something you should see. The victim… it’s someone you know.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to process what you had just heard. The air grew thick, your breathing heavier as a wave of disbelief and fear began to take hold. Yet, you resisted. Ignoring his words, you pulled away from his side in a desperate impulse, determined to confirm the truth for yourself.

Spencer tried to stop you, but it was no use. The scene unfolded before you, and your eyes landed on the lifeless face of someone you deeply loved. Reality hit you hard, and all your strength collapsed in an instant. It was as if the world crumbled around you, and you were paralyzed, trapped in that endless moment of pain and desolation.

Spencer watched as you broke down. The shock in your face, the trembling in your hands, the emptiness in your gaze… it was all a blend of emotions he knew too well. Seeing any corpse was hard, for sure, but seeing someone you knew lying on the floor was heartbreaking.

As he looked at you, he recalled his own experiences of loss. Those nights when he had desperately wished for a hug, a refuge, a promise that things would be okay. His heart broke seeing you so vulnerable, and without thinking further, he crossed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms.

The warmth of his embrace shattered the emotional blockade you had been submerged in, and suddenly, you found yourself clinging to him with all your might, seeking in his presence a comfort that seemed impossible.

You felt the weight of your emotions overflowing, the pain pulling you down with an unstoppable force. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, and you buried your face in his chest, as if you were trying to disappear in his embrace. Spencer felt each shaky breath, each tear that fell onto his clothing, and he held you with the same intensity, as if he too depended on that contact to stay whole.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice barely breaking, as if those words could somehow shield you from reality.

In his mind, Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about all he had wished for in his worst moments. No one had been there to hold him in the same way when he faced his own tragedies. He remembered the loneliness, the deep pain that threatened to consume him, and how he had learned to bury his feelings just to keep going. But now, at that moment, he felt a desperate urge to be for you everything he had never had.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, with a conviction that brought you a faint sense of calm. His arms were like a barrier against the world, a shield that offered you protection amidst the chaos around you. In that moment, nothing else mattered; only the warmth of his embrace, the firmness of his hold, and the words he whispered like a mantra. He wasn’t promising that the pain would go away, but that he would be there to hold you through it.

Around you, the crime scene continued its course: the patrol lights illuminated the night, agents went on with their work, and the murmur of voices mixed with the ambient noise. But for you, all of that faded away; there was only Spencer and the refuge he provided in that moment of weakness.

The trembling in your hands began to subside little by little, though the pain did not disappear. Your breathing became a bit steadier, and you dared to look up, meeting Spencer’s eyes. There was something in his expression, a mix of empathy and determination that made you feel understood. He wasn’t just there as your boss or your mentor; he was there as someone who understood your suffering in a way no one else could.

In his mind, Spencer repeated a silent promise. He wouldn’t let you go through the same things he had. You couldn’t know it, but each gentle rub on your back, each softly whispered word, was charged with a silent resolve, a promise that he would do everything he could so you wouldn’t have to face the pain alone.

“We’re going to get through this,” he finally whispered, his voice steadier than he actually felt. And as you nodded weakly, you clung to that phrase as if it were an unbreakable promise.

Spencer kept his arms around you for several minutes, ignoring the passage of time and the murmur of the other agents. He was aware that you’d have to face reality eventually, that you’d have to process what had happened. However, he was willing to hold you as long as necessary, because he knew that in moments like this, support and company were the only things that could mitigate the pain, even if just a little.

To him, holding you was more than an act of comfort; it was an act of redemption, a way to heal his own wounds by offering you the support he had never received. And in that instant, you both shared a moment of intimacy and understanding so profound that it transcended words.

When you finally pulled away, he kept a hand on your shoulder, a gesture of support that anchored you to reality. Your eyes met, and in Spencer’s gaze, you found a silent promise that you would be okay, that he would be by your side for as long as it took. And although the pain hadn’t vanished, you knew that, at least for that moment, you weren’t alone.

[nvuy]

hi! back with my bullshit. i've been feral about jing yuan lately, AGAIN. this man never leaves the crevices of my barely-wrinkled brain. this time, i'm thinking about sparring with him... you're both grinning and out of breath and you swear jing yuan is trying to rile you up even more with his constant grabbing you whenever he can. and then you end up pinned under him, with his big hands squeezing every piece of your skin he can like he's trying to tear you apart.. oh i'm drooling

punching bag — jing yuan

summary. you regret day in and day out that you asked general jing yuan to help you work on your swordsmanship, and it doesn’t help that he barely takes it seriously.

notes. hi mords my little goober this is for u. also for anyone that likes jing yuan. and praise. and ummm. sweaty sword fighting and making out. i guess.

warnings. minor innuendos. you can tell how i feel about jing yuan just by this piece alone.

“Stick it, old man.” Your sword blocks his, and you gasp in triumph. His blade is inches from your throat, but your own keeps it in place.

It is heavy, though. You geniunely wonder how he’s able to even fight with something that can crack a tree log in two faster than an axe can.

You pant in exasperation, and you almost choke on your spit with excitement. Though you feel as though to your face is on fire and your hair is matted with sweat, the smile on your face is golden.

General Jing Yuan grins. His teeth flash. “Well done.”

You pull back the weapon after a moment, exhausted as you swallow thickly. There’s adrenaline coursing through your veins, and your heart is pumping so sporadically you’re sure it’s about to escape from your throat.

Then, you do it again, and again, and again, and again, and your triumph slowly moulds into something worse. You feel utterly pathetic, being able to fend off the General of the Luofu as if it’s like spreading butter on bread.

To that, you lower your weapon after what seems like hours, but was only a few minutes. “Are you even trying?”

Jing Yuan teases you with a taut smile. “Why would you think otherwise? What if you’ve just dramatically improved?”

You scrunch your face up at that.

His eyes light up with mischief before he raises his weapon. “Come. Again.”

Hesitantly, you draw your blade once more. It’s the same cut as his, you’re sure, for a more even match. It’s hardly ‘even’ though, when one wrong move will have his weapon cracking yours into two. And you feel it every time you manage to stop him.

You clear your throat and stumble back for a moment. Maybe a second of pep talk and talking down to yourself. That usually works

Jing Yuan yawns when you take too long. He’s not even looking at you; rather, he’s busy observing his weapon for any impurities on the blade.

That sets you off.

Your face burns with fury and you reel your fist backwards until it flies at his stupid, dumb, handsome face.

He catches your knuckles easily with his palm. “Someone’s growing claws,” he whispers. He taps you lightly on the leg with his blade. “I am teaching you the way of the blade, first and foremost, before hand-to-hand combat.”

“Scared I’ll land a punch, old man?” you spit, trying to swipe at his face again.

“Terrified,” he responds. “Now. Shoulders back. Again.”

You huff.

Again.

He blocks.

He dodges.

You curse at him at first. He only replies with a fond chuckle.

Then, you stumble, over and over again. He manages to trip you with his foot about ten times. On the eleventh attempt, you stop his attack with a stomp on his blade, but he simply pulls it out from underneath you.

You pull the blade forward and try to slice his face in half. His weapon stops yours almost too easily.

You grow frustrated and almost throw your weapon to the floor in defeat.

“Start trying a little less?” you ask him through bated breaths.

“Having a rough time?” he teases before simply side stepping your next manoeuvre with his eyes shut, before one gentle shove of his finger against your back as you stumbling right to the floor. “Again. You aren’t balanced.”

You try to stand up, but your legs give out, and you crumble to your knees again. He’s not even holding you against the floor, and embarrassment flares in your stomach.

You try fanning at your face with your hands. The afternoon sun is beating down hot and hard, and you’re clearly not the only one struggling. Jing Yuan busies himself untying his hair to retire it since it has come loose and has begun sticking to his face.

You swallow distastefully as you stare up at him from the floor.

He straightens the ribbon in his hair and shakes out the sweat thats beginning to matt in his roots.

You’re too busy admiring his arms to give a shit about what he’s saying, considering his lips are moving. His stupidly big fucking arms. That you want him to squash you with until you can’t feel your face. And can’t breathe.

“Is that all you can take?” he hums. His palms must be sweating as he readjusts the fingerless gloves he’s wearing. He breathes out once, evenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you huff and manage to stand to your feet. “Some people aren’t immortal beings with ridiculous spouts of stamina.”

“The stamina comes from training,” he reminds. He’s retrieved your weapon, and he holds it out to you. “And discipline.”

Whatever. Begrudgingly, you snatch it from his hand and raise it.

“Imagine as if this is a fight to the death,” is all he tells you.

And you try. You really do try.

It’s almost as if he grows extra limbs when the time calls for it. Just when you believe both his hands are busy and you find an opening, he suddenly grows a third leg, or an extra finger, or something, and he’s magically stopped your next move. He can predict your every move; he can read every time you’re thrown off guard or you’re distracted or your foot stance is off. He doesn’t so much throw you to the floor, but rather allows gravity to do the work for him.

He does ensure you have a soft landing, however. So, you suppose he can play nice sometimes — that, and the last time he offered to be your punching bag, you’d ended up hitting your head so hard on the ground that you were stuck in the hospital for three days with a horrible concussion.

“Feeling any better?” he asked curiously a few hours after you’d been admitted. He’d been kind enough to visit your little room and was busy poking at a small teddy bear one of your friends had gifted you, alongside three cards and a bouquet of flowers.

That… he’d given you. Well, you think he did, because you don’t remember seeing them before he showed up. You were too miserable to really ask about it, though, so you kept your mouth shut.

“No,” you mumbled. “I feel like… shit.”

He hums sympathetically.

“I apologise again,” Jing Yuan said softly, slotting next to you on the bed and resting a hand on your arm. “If you need me for anything, do let me know.”

You take a deep breath to try and settle your queasy stomach.

“Yeah,” you slurred. Watching him is hard work as it is; you’re already dizzy and nauseous and you were growing antsy and worried that you’d need to puke again. Negative points if the General had to witness it. “Fuckin’ catch me next time.”

He grinned and lightly pinched your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Yes, General.”

You almost fly to the floor again, and Jing Yuan grabs at your hips and straightens you quickly.

You murmur, “I’m not gonna die if I fall.” Your face is hot with blood and you try to turn away from him to hide it.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” He’s even dusting off your shoulders and slicking back the short hairs stuck to your forehead. “You’re a fragile thing. I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

You try and throw another punch.

He clicks his tongue when you almost crash your nose into his chest plate. And you’ve done that before — and Aeons, that hurt, too.

Miserably, you drop your sword and it clatters to the ground with a terrible noise.

You raise your arms up and thwack him in the chest lightly.

He hums. “Have I told you your arms look better?” He reaches and squeezes at one of your biceps. “Much better.” He looks content, and there’s a coy smile at his lips.

Your face burns.

Your eyes are sparkling, but disdain curls over your tone. “You’re a riot, General. Do you flirt with everyone like this?”

“Maybe,” he responds quickly.

You step back and clear your throat as you retrieve your weapon. “Don’t make me jealous.”

He’s just simply dodging everything, and the flat side of his sword smashes against your stomach, neck, thighs, ribs, anywhere he can reach.

It doesn’t help with every soft land he hits on you, he follows it up with a quick, “dead.”

He taps your ankle at one point and does it again. Your teeth grit and you try to slice his hand clean off.

He easily removes himself.

“I can’t block every angle,” you defend as he straightens up. “How can I block my face and my feet at the same time?”

“By foot stance,” he chimes in lightly. “Here’s a tip: stand back. A sword as deft as this one—” He reaches forward and pinches the tip of the blade between his fingers, “—can be used decently at a distance. Don’t stand directly in front of me.” He presents his own weapon. You don’t even try to hold it up. “Because of its weight, you have a distance advantage over me. And, I have to work around it.”

You listen. You don’t want to, out of spite, but you do. You know he’s not purposefully making you feel useless; he’s told you many times he thinks your skills are impressive. He’s more so attempting to rile you up.

And it’s working.

You’re too busy admiring his biceps to care. “Nice arms.”

He displays a boyish grin just for you. “Thank you.” Then, he readjusts his grip on the hilt. “If you weren’t so busy ogling, you’d have an opening.”

“I play nice, General,” you remind him. “I’m not going to cheat.”

“If you say so,” he taunts.

And then, he lunges for you.

General Jing Yuan hasn’t once initiated a fight on his hand, and it nearly takes you off guard. It’s been a back and forth of you trying to land a clean hit, and him easily avoiding your shots.

You just about manage to hold him off when you almost trip backwards. You regain your footing and nerves wrack up your spine. He swings again. He barely misses your neck when your sword clashes with his blade.

“Good,” he murmurs. “You’re learning.”

“Ooh,” you whisper. “I love it when you stroke my ego.”

“I know.” He tries again, this time reeling back and switching the blade to his left hand to try and catch you off guard. You block that one, too.

You giggle like an idiot.

Then, you shove him backwards with your sword and go for a swipe at his nose.

It doesn’t exactly go the way you planned. Not on your part. Jing Yuan praised you afterwards for the execution, but this is the General of the Luofu, and if he wanted to win, he would win. At any cost.

He trips you over just as easily as he had the other eleven times. Your hands instinctively fly out towards the ground to cushion your fall, but you don’t quite make it all the way into the grass this time.

He catches you again, this time in some makeshift position as if you’d been dancing instead of trying to literally kill him, but he does keep your head from smashing into the floor again. You can feel the headache forming just thinking about it.

Jing Yuan knocks the sword from your hand and it falls by your feet.

“I was having fun,” you whine lowly to him. “You always spoil everything.”

There’s exhilaration there, and you feel it surge in your heart, hot and heavy. You’re excited, somewhat. The adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your skin is so warm and light you feel as though you could pop at any moment.

It doesn’t help your case that the general is so close to you, and has a smile so wide you’re worried his face will split into two.

You admire him for a moment too long.

A moment so long that his grin grows impossibly wider, and mischief flares in his eyes.

His grip loosens.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

You scrabble in a panic and your arms swing around his shoulders.

He holds you again with a snicker.

“You win,” you declare finally. “I’m going home.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t move. “If you can free yourself, that is.”

You barely try to wriggle from his grasp before sighing. “C’mon. I’m tired.” His grip doesn’t even loosen his hold in the slightest. “We can do this tomorrow.”

“This is your last test,” he announces, somewhat dramatically. “Imagine that this is your final moment to choose between life and death.” With one hand still encircling your waist, the other lets go reach downward just enough to retrieve your sword. “There is very little you can do.”

The sword gently taps against your sternum, angled just enough for the tip to barely threaten a carving into your chest.

You claw at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. Your back strains with the position he holds you in, and your legs barely have enough leverage to keep you standing.

You are quite literally at his mercy.

And again, your footwork is off.

You grunt when he leans in close. Way too close for comfort. You feel somewhat like a caged animal, and you’re sure you look the part.

“There are decisions you can make, however,” he chides. “Five seconds. Think.”

You glance down at your weapon pointed at your chest. You hesitantly unwrap your arms from around his neck and try and grab at it.

In the time it’s taken you to muster the courage to let go of him, his grip loosens around your waist again. Your heart drops and you quickly curl your arms around his shoulders again.

“Too slow,” is all he remarks. “Four.”

You make a desperate attempt at wriggling from his grasp, but he only chuckles at your futility.

“Three.”

You almost give up. “This is dumb.”

“Two.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The worst idea springs to mind, and for the final second, you second-guess yourself.

“One–”

Your hands shift from his arms to his cheeks, and you draw him as close as you could before you strained your neck upwards.

Your lips press against his in a last ditch effort as a distraction, and for a moment, you believe it doesn’t work. He completely freezes up and stiffens in your grasp like a corpse.

The sword still presses to your chest, and you find it uncomfortable to inhale for a moment. It feels as though one wrong move will send the sharpened blade driving forth into your skin.

And then, he drops the weapon in favour of slotting his hand behind your head and keeping you on him. The sound of metal hitting the floor rings distantly in your ears.

His lips are coated in sweat, and you taste salt and oranges. The scent is addicting enough, oddly, and you sigh into his mouth with relief.

His hand wanders. Not dangerously, but enough to keep you alert. It slides from your hair to your throat, and it remains against your jugular for a good long while. His thumb then flutters to the notch and keeps you still and placated.

Then, he rubs gently at your sternum, as if in apology. You pay it no mind. Your hands are still, save for the gentle stroke at the nape of his neck.

He’s teasing you, you figure out, even when he’s all wrapped around your finger like the ribbon in his hair. He pulls away constantly to see if you’ll give chase, and of course you do.

You’d feel almost pathetic if he wasn’t eagerly returning the kiss like an idiot.

He then pulls away. Much too quickly for your liking.

You frown and try to tug at his hair to bring him on your tongue.

Jing Yuan presses his fingers to your lips. “I thought you said you played nice?”

“Whatever, handsome,” you mumble. You reach upwards and tussle his already messy hair.

His lips are red with spit. Your spit. You did that. Gross.

Your heart flutters and you giggle.

“That would’ve been a good time to throw a punch,” he says after a moment.

You think about it. Then, you reel your fist back and aim at his face. “Sure.”

His other arm holds strong wrapped around your waist when he catches your wrist. Instead, he places soft kisses along your knuckles.

Something hot bubbles in your stomach. Easy.

“Will you kiss every opponent that bests you like that?” Jing Yuan asks quietly, a sneaking grin growing on his reddened lips.

You hum softly and cup his face gently. “Maybe.”

He scoffs lightly. “Don’t make me jealous.”

[zweigsangel]

ex fratboy! chris. smut-angst. 1.8k words.

it’s one of those late nights, and you’re standing there in the middle of a way-too-crowded, kinda messy party that, honestly, you only came to ‘cause your friends dragged you here. the air's thick with too many people, bad beer, and random songs blaring loud enough to drown out any thoughts you might’ve had. and that’s when you see him: chris. the ex you swore you were over. but like, really, are you?

it’s weird though, ‘cause he’s just chilling across the room, laughing too loud, his arm around some guy you don’t recognize, talking animatedly about god knows what. he’s got that same stupid, loose stance, shoulders relaxed, wearing that hoodie he always wore, the one you’d stolen a million times. you think— hope, he hasn’t noticed you, so you kinda try to blend in, sticking close to the wall, pretending to check your phone.

you weren’t always like this, all distant and tense. you’d meet up after his frat meetings, and he’d tell you all these wild stories about his brothers, like the time they tried building a slip n’ slide down the staircase and ended up getting written up by their advisor. you’d just sit there laughing so hard you’d cry, and he’d look at you like nothing in the world could ever compare. and for a while, it felt like he was it. but it ended, kinda messy, mostly because chris was…well, chris. he’d blow off plans, flirt with people at parties, and honestly, it just felt like he didn’t know what he wanted. or maybe he did, and it just wasn’t you. he’d show up late and drunk, ramble on about his deep thoughts on the universe, and then disappear for days, leaving you feeling like some kind of afterthought. eventually, you got tired of being the whenever person, so you cut it off. even if it hurt.

it’s been a few months now, and you’re doing your thing—focusing on classes, seeing friends, trying to move on.

but nah. of course he sees you.

“yo, wait up,” he calls, weaving his way through people, looking right at you. you try to act casual, like this isn’t a big deal, like you don’t feel your stomach flip. he stops in front of you, that grin still hanging on his face. “hey,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “long time no see, huh?”

“yeah, well, been busy,” you reply, shrugging. it sounds casual enough, but he’s still looking at you like he’s trying to read something on your face.

“you look good,” he says after a pause, and it’s so out of character for him to just say something like that, straight-up, that it throws you off for a second “uh...thanks?” you laugh, awkwardly. you know he’s probably just trying to be friendly, but you can’t help wondering if there’s more to it. “so...you still doing the same old chris thing?”

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away for a second. “i guess so,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. and then he kinda sighs, like he’s tired of the frat boy act, or maybe just tired of himself. “been, uh…been thinkin’ about you,” he admits, his voice low. “more than i probably should.”

you try to brush it off, folding your arms to keep your cool. “oh, yeah? that’s, uh, new.”

“i know, i know, i messed up,” he says, sighing. “just…never got you outta my head, y’know?” you can feel yourself softening despite everything. “yeah, well, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

he looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s this vulnerability there, like he’s finally ready to admit something he’s been holding back. “you think i didn’t? trust me, i tried. i just…i dunno. couldn’t do it.”

you don’t want to care, don’t want to feel that old pull, but it’s there, creeping up on you. he steps closer, barely an inch between you now, his gaze never leaving yours. “you want me to back off?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. “just tell me, and i will.”

you could tell him to go. could shut this down, walk away, stay done with him. but instead, you shake your head, just a tiny movement, and he lets out a soft breath, like he’s been holding it in. before you can think, his hand’s on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over your hip, pulling you closer.

the kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips brushing over yours like he’s testing if this is real. then his hand moves up, slipping around your back, and it’s like something inside you snaps. you grab the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he lets out a low sound, his grip on you tightening as he presses his body against yours, his mouth moving over yours with more intensity.

“missed you,” he whispers against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. you barely register the words, just feel the heat rising between you two, feel his hands sliding lower, pulling you against him, his fingers firm on your waist, his mouth moving along your jaw, down to your neck, sending shivers through you. you tug him toward the hallway, away from the crowded room, and he follows, his hand gripping yours, letting you lead him through the maze of people until you push open the bathroom door, dragging him inside.

the space is cramped and a little dingy, but you don’t care. the second the door clicks shut, his hands are on you, pushing you gently but firmly against the door. his mouth crashes into yours, hot and urgent, and your hands find their way under his hoodie, slipping over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. you tug the hoodie off him, and he lifts his arms to help you, tossing it aside without a second thought, his hands already back on you, roaming down your sides, exploring every inch.

he kisses you harder, more intense, his lips pressing down your neck, his hands slipping under your top, that quickly joins the hoodie on the floor.

“god, i’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. “yeah? thought you forgot about me,” you tease, but there’s no real bite to your words. it’s playful, but you both know the truth behind it.

“never forgot. couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he admits, his hands sliding up to your bra, deft fingers working to unclasp it. you feel a thrill of excitement mixed with nerves as it falls away, and his hands are on your bare skin, exploring, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

“you’re, uh…sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice low, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. you don’t even hesitate. “yeah,” you whisper, barely able to keep your voice steady.

he lets out a soft, almost relieved sound, and his mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, like he’s been holding back and can’t anymore. his hands slide down, finding the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down, his touch steady and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. you step out of it, your pulse racing as his hands explore you, pulling you closer, pressing you against him.

you tug at his belt, fingers fumbling, but he’s already helping, working the buckle loose, kicking off his jeans. he’s back against you in a second, his hands on your hips, his lips trailing down your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers in their wake.

he lifts you, setting you on the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist. “you okay?” he asks, checking in, “yeah, jus’ do it,” you whisper, barely able to hold back the urge to pull him closer, “please.”

he’s kissing you again, his mouth moving against yours as you feel him press against you, hot and hard, and you let out a soft gasp. “need you,” he murmurs, almost pleading, and that raw honesty sends a thrill through you. you nod, breathless, and he positions himself, sliding inside you slowly, giving you a moment to adjust. it feels incredible, every inch of him fitting perfectly, like he was made for you.

“god, you’re so tight,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, and the sound of his voice makes you moan softly. as he starts moving, the rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, and you feel every thrust, every movement building inside you. he’s murmuring your name, breathless, and the heat between you is consuming. you wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him in deeper, urging him to go faster.

“yeah? you like that?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin as he quickens the pace. it feels electric, every thrust sending shockwaves through you, and you nod, lost in the sensation.

“so good, chris,” you moan, the words tumbling out as you feel that familiar coil tightening deep inside you. he leans back, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes, and it drives you wild. “gonna make you feel good, okay?” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart race.

with each thrust, the world outside fades away. it’s just the two of you, the heat of the moment enveloping you, and you feel that sweet pressure building, your body responding to every touch, every whisper, until you’re trembling around him, ready to fall apart.

“come on, babe,” he encourages, his voice low and rough, and you can hear the strain in it as he moves faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “can’t hold on much longer,” you breathe, feeling that familiar rush as he hits just the right spot, sending you spiraling.

“let go for me,” he says, his voice thick with desire, and the way he looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, pushes you over the edge. with a loud gasp, you’re coming undone, waves of pleasure crashing over you, and he follows right after, burying himself deep as he lets go. the sound of his voice, mixed with yours, fills the tiny bathroom, and in that moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, together again in a way you thought you’d never be.

as you both come down from the high, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. he doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence settle between you, a quiet, unspoken apology wrapped up in the way he looks at you, his eyes softer than you remember, like maybe he’s finally realized what he’s been missing all along.

and for now, it’s enough to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ oliver aiku vs. his ex!

synopsis: oliver aiku was always a ladies' man. a sadistic one, at that. he enjoyed playing with emotions, enjoyed being in control, enjoyed ruining women at the whims of his heart and dick. so, when he decides he's had enough of his cheerleader!gf and breaks up... why does she not look upset? in fact, why is she brushing him off, acting like he didn't mean shit to her?? huh? guess it's upto him to remind you just what a wonderful boyfriend he is. pairing: pro soccer player!oliver aiku x cheerleader!gf cw: hate-sex. marathon sex. making a sex tape. nsfw includes: fingering, penetration, creampie, oliver being a bitch and lowkey toxic. NOT PROOFREAD. wc: 2.9k

oliver aiku wasn't an actor by profession. no, he was a soccer player. the entire world knew that by now, you knew that by now.

yet the way he had clasped his hand — intertwining his digits — and looked at you with his pretty face all furrowed, you may as well given him an oscar for best actor.

"it hurts me to do this. it really fuckin' does." oliver nodded, splaying his large palm against his muscled chest, "but, i'm afraid it's just not working out between us."

you almost wanted to laugh in his face.

so, this is why he had booked a reservation at the same restaurant he had asked you out at just two months prior.

you could recall that night as if it was yesterday. the winds were unforgiving as you had sat on the same table in the same balcony area. that night, his heterochrome eyes were locked in on yours and he smiled so softly when he asked you out. words candied, so awfully, awfully sweet: "'s you and me, baby. forever."

how funny that forever lasted 2 month and 6 days.

now, the same dim overhead lighting panted the man in a subtle glow, hiding his dark intentions just as well as it hid the dips and curves of his facial features.

he reached for your hand on the table, methodically rubbing circles into your skin as his eyes bore into yours. he repeated, "you get me, right, baby?"

you almost did laugh in his face.

stifling your amusement under the guise of sadness, you nodded, "i understand it all, oliver. all too well, at that."

you knew oliver was a sadistic man, a man that replaced women with the flick of his fingers. something in him got off at their spluttering breaths, their wide eyes as they tried to ask him questions: but why? why do you want to break-up? oliver, why? why, why, why?

too bad you weren't one of those girls at oliver aiku's feet.

maybe he had forgotten that you had known him for ages, that you were well-versed with his tactics — being the captain of the national japanese cheerleading team. maybe he had forgotten that you knew what kind of man he was long before he started chasing after you. and maybe he had forgotten that if he tried to ruin you, you'd ruin him thrice over.

covering his larger palm with yours much smaller ones, you leaned forward. the swell of your tits was a sight to see, your cleavage so delicious against that low-cut dress but it was your words that made oliver aiku question his sanity, "i really get you, oli. with your career and mine, it's just so hard to make this work. i was gonna suggest the same. we should really break up."

what?

whatever flickers of amusement were left in his heterochrome eyes turn to ashes, sinking within his tanned skin as he physically froze. his eyes took you in, words barely pushing past his lips, "what?"

"you're right." you patted his hand sympathetically, "we should break-up, baby."

the two of you sat in silence, basking each-other in as the chatter in the background faded off. suddenly, the sensual ambience of the restaurant turned into one of stark... confusion...?

the man opened his mouth, pretty lips parting before closing again, and again, and again like a goddamn fish out of water.

"right. right." the man finally breathed out, shifting backwards in his seat and nodding, "i'm glad we both agree then."

"thanks for the meal, oliver." you smiled, pulling your hands back to your lap. your posture straightened, eyes tangling against his in such a cruel dance. "i'm so glad we could end this mutually."

"of course," the man rasped, trying to mask his disappointment at your level-headed tone.

why weren't you in shambles yet?

his lips wobbled as they fell into a smile, and the gesture left some sort of sick, twisted satisfaction in your gut.

oliver grit out, "i'm glad too."

that was two weeks ago, and you had walked away from the restaurant with heart well and intact. oliver aiku was a language you were well-versed in, after all. he was destruction, ruination, he was everything you should stay away from.

but now... the real question was: if oliver aiku was soo glad that you broke up, then why was he running towards you after winning the championship quarter-finals?

sweat dripped off the planes of his cheeks, down his jaw and into his jersey. he cleared his throat, completely ignoring your teammate who had been talking to you seconds prior. his eyes zeroed in on you, "oh, didn't see you there."

the man huffed, eyeing you in your tight-fitting uniform. the man in question smirked, keeping up with his own nonchalant attitude, "how ya doin', sweets?"

"didn't see me?" you repeated with a jump in your brows, "you didn't see the cheer team throughout the match? have you lost your vision, aiku? or worse, your mind?"

"oh? have i?" the slight, seductive lilt in his voice never gave up and you stared daggers at him, "what is it, aiku?"

"how was that, huh?"

"how was what?"

"my... play? the game?" the man slowed his speech down as if you were not comprehending him thoroughly.

"good, i guess?" you shrugged, still turned towards the teammate that seemed to sense the tension between you two. as if on cue, she left you to alone. walking away with the signature ponytail swaying with each graceful step.

you dragged your gaze back to the man and waited for him to spill. and spill, he did.

"i was thinking about the break-up." he finally fessed, a hand flying up to tame his unruly hair, "and i think it may have been a mistake."

a smirk threatened to break out on your lips but being a woman of class, you cooed instead, "but i do think it was the right decision. i don't think we should get back together, oli."

"what? f'real?" he panted, wiping a hand to get rid of the sweat that was cascading down his forehead.

you just hummed.

"what? jus' asking." and he grinned — unabashed, uncaring that the whole world might make when they see his crazed expression, "dont'cha miss me? be honest. don't you miss my dick? bet i can get you to come back with just an one night sta—"

"—nah, you're too tiny, aiku. it won't get the work done."

of course, the former captain didn't lose his cool. instead, he laughed — the kind that made your skin crawl and sent a violent, hot throb down to your core. his heterochrome eyes narrowed in some sort of evil satisfaction and he dragged his hand over his stubble so, so slowly.

he finally leaned in, "you want me to ruin you? ya wanna gamble your life like that?"

"can you?" you paused, purposefully looking at him with those doe-eyes, "can you 'ruin me', oliver?"

"hah." he pulled back, giving you an easy smile, "trying to push all my buttons? you have no idea how this'll end for you."

you nodded, "you think you'd scare me, aiku?"

"baby..." his voice was a drawl, words so well-pronounced, "i'd do you worse than that."

maybe you forgot that if you tried to ruin oliver aiku thrice over, he would go for a nasty total of four times instead.

"oli— a-aiku." your breath stuttered as his silhouette became blurry. hot tears pricked at your lash-line as he bullied his digits deeper and deeper into your cunt once more.

his pace was inhumane, fingers still playing against your gummy walls till he found the spot that was your kryptonite. and then, he kept assaulting that very spot over and over again. over n' over n' over again till your back arched and moans tore out of your throat so pathetically.

"i can't. i can't. ca-can't." you babbled — fucked so dumb on his thick fingers — as he tried to pull your fourth orgasm out of you, "a-aiku."

"ah." he hummed, his fingers fucking into you so, so mean. his pace slowed only so that you could focus on his rough voice, "tch, look right here."

his digits moved with purpose, their purpose being your ruination. and you lost yourself in the feeling of your stomach tightening, another violent orgasm trying to pry itself out of your aching body.

you were pulled into reality with a harsh squeeze of your cheeks. your teary eyes widened, wobbling lips falling into a forced pout as oliver repeated himself, "look into the fuckin' camera, doll."

"o-okay." your eyes dragged upwards from man to the tripod set at the edge of the bed. your shaky vision took in the metallic luster of his phone and you tried to focus.

"okay," he rasped, "now tell 'em how good i'm fucking ya." he cut himself off with a laugh, "ah, wait i haven't even fucked you yet and you're still so fucked out, isn't it?"

"no-oh." a harsh slap to your throbbing clit had your head rolling backwards. oliver hummed, "i asked you to speak up," another harsh slap had you gasping, "so, speak the fuck up."

"i-" your voice wavered pathetically, eyes barely focused on the camera that was perched a few meters apart, "i fuckin' hate oliver aiku."

"oh?" his amused laugh hit your core, hot breath playing with your overstimulated cunt. his fingers steadied, the impending orgasm that was just now knocking at your door dissipated with each drawled out second.

"oh?" he laughed again, this time slowly pulling his fingers out, "you hate me?"

"i- i do." you almost cringed at the weak resolve in your voice, and cringed once again as you failed to meet his eyes. oliver stared daggers at you, pushing his pretty fingers past his hungry lips to finally taste you.

"hmm," he hummed against his digits, popping them out lewdly, "you taste so fuckin' sweet but you're a mean, lil' thing. aren't ya?"

"yeah, i am. why?" as your body finally caught a break from his unyielding acts, your voice grew firmer, "are you having a tough time handling me?"

"you're so cute." the soccer player raised himself upwards and caged you in under him, muscled back rippling with each step forward. his fingers hooked under your chin, voice so soft, "why do you hate me?"

the very next second, he was off you. clad only in his boxers, oliver aiku carried himself to his phone and removed it off the tripod. bringing the device to you, he started a new video, "how about you tell all the reasons you hate me to the camera?"

"wh-huh?"

the phone was handed over into your shaking hands and you stared at your flushed face in the front camera as the camera kept on recording. your eye makeup was a mess, highlighter and blush smudged as lipstick dragged off of your lips to your chin.

"go on." oliver dragged his boxers down and you to his lap. with one smooth motion, his achingly hard cock was inside your abused cunt.

"o-li-ver." his words were mere syllables as your eyes clasped shut. his hips rutted upwards, his strong hands wrapping around your waist as he kept fucking into you. the mushroom tip dragging so deliciously against your g-spot.

"go on," he grit, words a desperate command, "tell the camera w-why you hate me, doll."

"first, you're so me-mean sometimes." you caught your face contorting into pleasure as oliver kept up with his pace.

"am i?"

"mhm." you nodded, one hand shakily clasping the camera and another wrapping around his shoulders to stablize yourself. he dragged his lips down your jaw, his stubble a familiar scratch against your skin, "what else?"

"you keep flirt—ingh ah, ah, ah wi—with other women, oli." he inhaled your scent, obscenely licking at the thin layer of perspiration on your neck, "and?"

"and you're s-sho," your words slurred at his sudden hard thrust within you, "pretentious."

he smiled against your skin, words so scratchy as your velvety walls milked him to his demise, "using big words now, pretty?"

your eyes met his in a lewd, charged dance. the long-forgotten video still getting filmed in the background as he captured your lips in a messy kiss; all teeth and spit and sins.

"'m not dumb like ya," you breathed against his kiss-bitten lips for a bare second before your lips clashed against his again. a strong hand travelled up your spine, the touch so intimate as he pounded his cock up into your cervix.

"o-oli," your hand shook, another wrapping around him as your hardened nipples rubbed against his hard, muscled body, "'m gonna cum."

"not yet." the man babbled, "not yet. not yet. finish telling the camera why you hate me."

"i ha-te you." you nodded, eyes drooping dangerously as you tried to speak into the phone, "i hate oli 'cause he only da-dated me to... fuck, oli. he dated me jus' to break up."

"did you not wanna break up?" the man cooed, though the undertones of his voice revealed the dark satisfaction of your admission, "ya said ya wanted it."

"i— i did."

"an' now?" his eyes bore into your face, words so desperate that they dangled at the edge of insanity, "say you love me."

your eyes widened, sanity clearing only for a moment to deny his hurling accusations, "i don't."

a harsh roll of his hips had your eyes rolling back again, had your manicured nails sinking into his tanned skin and had your jaw slacking open just for his to kiss you senseless.

"say it." he mumbled against your lips, drunk on you, "jus' say it. say y-you love me, doll."

you found yourself losing your senses as he fucked into you with one harsh rut and then another, and another. a hand snaked lazily between your writhing, sweaty bodies to play against you long-neglected clit, "c'mon. spill, doll."

"i do." you nodded finally, lips wettened by your crazed kisses and body molding to his corrupt touches, "i love you, oli."

"good girl." he smiled against your glossed lips, "say you want me back."

you repeated after him, a mindless husk of a woman at his disposition, "i wan' you ba-ah fuck 'm gonna cum."

"say it."

"i wantyouback." your words mushed together as you finally felt your orgasm clash against your own body. your thighs shook, the limbs closing tightly against his well-defined waist and his phone dropped from your limp grasp onto the luxurious bed.

"good girl, jus' like that." oliver nodded, his words so very dark as you finally fell limp against his body. his hand methodically soothed you, rubbing patterns into your back as he fucked his erection right into your overstimulated core.

heavy breaths stuttered out of your used body, eyes clasping shut at the feel of his warmth against your entire skin and the mess he was making against your puffy folds.

"fuuuck." his hips came to a stutter, arms growing tighter against your ribcage as the man emptied himself within your inviting, plush cunt with a pornographic moan, "fuckin' hell, i forgot just how good you feel like this."

the sticky, white-ish liquid dribbled past your fluttering cunt and pooled within you two. oliver pushed you a mere inches away to bring his hands to your face. as his heterochrome eyes burned into yours, the warmth from his palm seemed to seep into your cold cheek... but now, his touch felt too hot, as if it would char you.

oliver aiku gave you a smile — a dangerous one — and the dimple in his cheek came alive, "i'm so happy we're back together, baby."

wait, what???

but before you could question him, before you could take a pause and wonder aloud, his syrupy lips caught yours and he shushed you, "shh, 's okay. jus' go to sleep, baby. i'll clean you up, okay?"

"but oli—"

"—baby." his words were gentle, actions so soft as he laid you down on the bed and kissed your forehead, "just sleep, doll. we can talk tomorrow, right?"

and you nodded. how could you not as he dragged his strong palms up and down your sore body and mumbled sweet nothings into the pliant, night air?

the next morning, as the sun shone past his glass windows and onto your sleepy face, you saw a half-dressed oliver hovering on the side of the bed.

"what?" you asked lazily, rubbing the sleep off of your eyes. half aware that you were still in his bed, you stared at him confused.

"what?" he repeated with a dopey smile.

"what'dyou want?" your words slurred, the morning voice creeping in within the syllables.

"nothing." oliver grinned, bending down to boop your nose with his index, "jus' wanted to say goodmorning to my beautiful girlfriend."

your eyes widened, body shooting up so fast that your forehead collided against his dense head, "—ouCH!"

"jesus," the man staggered, rubbing the area you had assaulted with his index and middle finger, "what?!"

"you were serious about that?!"

"you were not?" he quipped, and you shook your head as if he was the insane one, "obviously not."

"ah," oliver aiku nodded — as if in a deep thought — before looking down at you. flickers of amusement swam in his irises, lips lopsided and twisted as he looked at you as if you were his personal lab rat, "well, too bad we're back together now, doll."

what the fuck.

a/n: OLIVER AIKU THE MAN YOU AREEE. I LOVE TO HATE YOU. MY CRINGEFAIL HUSBAND FOREVER MWUAH MWUAH. tagging: @moodswing101 @actuallynarii @5hoe1 @mininji @scara-simp69 @heartfeltstarry @keimorii because like why, not?

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

this love is ours | lewis hamilton

🍵 synopsis: It's just another Thursday, and you've invited your boyfriend over for dinner. It's the early stages of your relationship and you're both still trying to understand how to make it work. warnings: domestic life with lewis, mention of smut but nothing too graffic just a lot of fluff, really. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 1.5k words)

part 1

The doorbell rings, and you’re there before it can sound a second time. You’d been trying – unsuccessfully – to keep the anxiety at bay, telling yourself you weren’t just sitting here, practically waiting like a dog by the door.

Something about that image stings. Waiting around for someone else, no life of your own.

You don’t want whatever this is between you two to feel like that.

But here you are, sighing as you open the door, realizing you’d been holding your breath. Lewis stands there with that easy grin of his, the one that always lights up when he sees you. He steps inside with the same comfortable ease he has every time, like he belongs here.

It’s a little absurd, really – seeing him in your cramped one-bedroom apartment. Everything about him feels too big, like he could barely fit in the space, yet somehow he does. He makes himself at home without a second thought, even looking thrilled whenever you ask him to come by.

Your apartment is nothing special, but it’s yours. The walls are covered in mismatched frames with art prints and photos, books stacked in piles wherever there’s space, some spilling over onto the floor. Plants cling to life on the windowsill, a few drooping leaves reminding you you’ve probably forgotten to water them for a while.

And now he is here.

Watching him in your home, sprawled out on your too-small couch or grabbing a drink from your mismatched kitchenware, you feel a strange mix of affection and unease. Intimacy has always been tricky for you and bringing someone in feels like laying out every part of yourself for inspection. You still can’t believe he wants to be here, tangled up in your mess of books and half-dead plants – not just tolerating it, but actually enjoying it.

And you’re still not sure if it’s comforting or unsettling to let him see your life laid out this way, all the things that make you... you.

After a couple of dates, you tried to explain. “Intimacy is a bit complicated for me,” you said, half-expecting him to tense up or brush it off. But he didn’t flinch. He just nodded, as if you’d mentioned something as mundane as your favorite tea.

“Another thing we have in common, I guess,” he’d said with a little laugh, like you were still comparing movie preferences.

part 2

In your kitchen, you’re chopping vegetables while he hovers close, his hand on your waist, tracing absentminded circles with his thumb. He’s always been touchy like this, finding ways to keep you close whenever you’re together, as if he can’t help himself.

“I wish you could come this weekend,” he says, leaning over to sneak a slice of carrot.

You give a small shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe you should just do like the rest of the paddock and date a jobless woman,” you tease, keeping your tone light, but it lands with a subtle weight you can both feel.

It’s playful, sure, but there’s an edge. There’s this guilt whenever one of you can’t be there for the other. No one’s blaming anyone, not really. You’re both still trying to make this work, but the distance, the missed moments – they’re always there, lingering in the back of your minds, just out of sight, and sometimes they sting.

The kettle starts to boil, and the sharp whistle slices through the silence, cutting off the tension.

He chuckles, turning to you with a smile. “Or maybe I’ll just get them to move the race here, to your kitchen,” he says. “I think I’d be faster with you handing out snacks.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours, and the mood lifts, just like that.

part 3

You’re both on the sofa, legs tangled together, sipping tea in comfortable silence. Your legs rest over his lap, feeling heavy but safe.

“I’m so tired. I can’t even –”

“Can’t even what?” he prompts gently, looking at you with those warm eyes.

“Can’t even finish a sentence,” you admit, laughing softly. “I was going to say it’s nice to be here with you, but…”

He chuckles, brushing his thumb across your ankle. “But?”

“But, you know, I just keep trailing off, and it’s –”

“It's cute,” he interrupts, his smile widening. “You know you don’t have to talk, right?”

“I do,” you reply, stifling a yawn. “But it’s just… I want to say something, but my brain isn’t… cooperating. It’s like, I have all these thoughts, but they just… float away.”

“Maybe your brain just wants to go to bed,” he suggests, his tone teasing.

“Maybe,” you murmur, your eyelids growing heavier. “But… I’m too tired for that. For, um, for sex and stuff.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know. I’m tired too, baby. Let’s just sleep tonight, okay?”

part 4

He’s got you caged in his arms, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. He starts leaving soft kisses along the side of your face, then your neck, then just behind your ear. Each kiss is a gentle peck, and you can feel yourself practically melting, a soft sigh escaping your lips. His kisses make your whole body tingle, and you just want to be closer, to press into him until there’s no space left between you.

You shift, adjusting, trying to find that perfect spot – but nothing feels like enough. No matter how tightly you hold him, it still doesn’t feel close enough. He kisses you again, even softer, his hand stroking your hair, sending little shivers down your spine.

And then he starts to laugh, a quiet chuckle at first that grows, his whole body shaking. He laughs harder as you keep squirming, and soon he’s laughing so hard it’s impossible to ignore. You pull back, frowning, pushing him away with a huff.

“You’re so mean!” you exclaim, trying to sound serious, but he’s made it impossible not to pout. You hate feeling this childish around him, but he’s just… infuriating.

“What happened to just sleeping?” you add, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks as he keeps grinning.

He shrugs, pulling you back in and brushing a final kiss across your forehead. “You’re too cute when you’re frustrated,” he murmurs, his voice soft against your hair. “Now go back to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can,” you admit, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I should’ve known better than to get in bed with you.”

He chuckles, his arms tightening around you. “Maybe you should’ve,” he says, teasing, but he pulls you in even closer, resting his chin on the top of your head.

Wrapped in his shirt, which hangs off you in oversized, lopsided folds, you laugh as you fumble to pull it off, and he starts helping, chuckling with you as you get tangled up in the sleeves.

He pauses for a moment, looking at you, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “You know,” he whispers, a small smile playing on his lips, “you’re beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your cheeks flush. “I’m serious,” he insists, his tone warm, his eyes soft.

You give in with a sigh, mumbling, “I’m sorry about earlier… I didn’t mean to snap. I just – had a pretty shitty day at the office.”

He nods, his hand moving down to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “I know,” he murmurs. “We’re both tired, aren’t we?” He leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip.

He smiles as he finally frees you from the shirt, tossing it aside and gently pressing you back onto the bed. “My girl is so pretty…” he teases, his voice warm and playful as he kisses you again, holding you close.

His hands move slowly along your sides, fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your skin. Everything is quiet now, just the two of you wrapped up in each other, your breaths syncing. 

You let your hands drift along his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. He dips down, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone, your breasts, his breath warm and steady, calming you.

Even though you’re both on the edge of sleep, barely keeping your eyes open, your bodies seem to know exactly what to do. His weight presses down on you, grounding you. His scent is warm and intoxicating, lulling you deeper into the moment.

Neither of you rushes – there’s no urgency. You guide him to a rhythm that feels effortless, as if you’ve always known how to move together like this.

It’s gentle and unhurried, every movement blending into the next as you lose yourselves in the softness of each other. All you know in this moment is his warmth, his weight, and the sound of your breaths mixing in the quiet of the room. 

And even in this half-dreamlike state, somehow, you both find the release you need, a quiet, shared bliss that lingers as he presses his forehead to yours, breathing in time with you.

You’re both too tired for anything more, and that’s okay. The closeness, the way his hand settles on the small of your back, pulling you in tighter, says enough. You brush your fingers through his hair, letting your eyes drift shut as he trails one last kiss along your shoulder.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. His arms hold you close, and you let out a sigh, feeling yourself finally relax as you hold him back, allowing yourself to feel small in his arms.

[mamiobesssionfics]

Too Far

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Requested by: @gay4rhearipleyblog 

Warning: injury, blood

Summary: Rhea left to get in the car while you grabbed your bag. On your way out, you found her on the floor, covered in blood.

You felt your entire body shake. Your breathing picked up.

Your ears started to ring as the noises around you muffled, you felt like you were underwater.

You rushed to her side, panic rising in your chest as you saw Rhea all bloody, lying on the floor.

You panicked, realizing she was unconscious.

"Help, please!" you yelled as more people came around you to help Rhea.

Soon, an ambulance arrived.

You kept shaking and begging everyone to help her.

It almost got to the point where the paramedics had to take care of you as well.

But you soon collected yourself. But your shaking never stopped.

You decided to head to the hospital in the ambulance.

You held her hand the whole time.

As you waited in the emergency room, your leg was bouncing.

Your mind was running but at the same time, you couldn't think of anything.

You were terrified.

After a thorough examination, the doctors assured you that Rhea would be just fine, even if the doctor did confirm Rhea had sustained a fractured orbital bone.

"She is awake now, you can go in and see her." you thanked the kind doctor before heading in.

When you headed in, she opened her eyes.

"Hello." you said as she moved to sit up. "Stay." you placed your hand on her shoulder and pushed her down onto the bed.

She didn't say anything, only let out a long sigh and laid down.

"What happened?" you asked as you sat down by her leg on the bed.

"Liv and Raquel." was her reply.

"She... they did this?" Rhea only nodded as she looked into your eyes.

You never would have imagined for this rivalry to go this far.

"I want to kill her." she said.

"This is going too far Rhea." you said as you felt tears in your eyes.

"She took Dom, my championship and now this? How could I ever let this one go?" she said but soon realized the tears in your eyes.

"She nearly took you from me. But seeing you laying there... covered in your blood, it was too much." her hand found yours as she squeezed it.

"I'm sorry it got to that. The doctor told me to take some time off. So, I guess I will be home to annoy you a lot more." you knew she was trying to lighten your mood. It worked.

You chuckled a little bit.

"I know I scared you, Princess, I'm truly sorry."

"I'm just glad you are okay." you squeezed her hand.

"They told me, you found me. You saved me."

"I wish I would have been there earlier."

"You would have got hurt. I will... try and take it back a little. For your sake."

"We both know, you won't. Rhea Ripley will not go down without a fight. It is why I love you so much."

"I love you too. Kiss me." she said and you leaned down to give her a sweet kiss.

The doctor told you how serious her injury was, but you were ready to be there for her every step of the way.

To help her heal.

And later, for her to get her revenge.

If there was one mistake that they made, it was that they left Rhea alive.

[oldsoul007]

don’t dream it’s over

nicholas chavez x reader

summary: nicholas and reader are sworn enemies, what happens when they end up being counselors as the same summer camp…

I had been a camp counselor at Camp Pinewood for the past two summers, and of course Nicholas too, but we couldn't stand each other. Nicholas, with his pollos, easygoing charm some would say and knack for breaking rules, clashed constantly with my strict adherence to the camp's guidelines and my no-nonsense attitude. Our arguments were legendary among the campers and staff, often ending with one of us storming off in frustration, usually me.

When I got there the first day, few days before campers showed up, of course he was late with a smug look on his face. This summer, however, something was different. The camp director had paired us together to lead the same group of campers, hoping we combined strengths would create a balanced team. From the start, it was clear we would have to find a way to work together, despite our differences.

After trying to fight our camp director on putting us together, I finally gave up and went to get stuff for my cabin. I was taking my luggage out of my car when someone clears their throat. I roll my eyes guessing who it was. “Not even gonna say hi to me princess” “what did I tell you about calling me that” “mmm I think you like it.”

Once I grabbed all my stuff I continued walking toward my cabin. Nicholas following behind. “Do you need something.” I ask irritated. “Well I thought since we’ll be working together all summer we might as well get along.” I stop in my tracks to twist around and look at him. “You gotta be fucking with me” I almost laugh.

“You know, whatever, i guess I thought maybe you’d grow up for once” I rolled my eyes as he said that. Turning on my heel, walking toward my cabin. I still hear him behind me. “Why are you still following me” I groan.

“My cabins right here too, guess we’re neighbors.” He said closing the door to the cabin across from mine. Great now I have to hear him all summer nonstop.

At camp, the tension between me and Nicholas was palpable. As camp counselors, we were forced to work together, despite our mutual dislike. Every morning started with us exchanging curt nods and avoiding eye contact.

A typical day at camp involved organizing activities for the kids. Me and Nicholas had to coordinate everything from arts and crafts to outdoor games. Our disagreements were frequent, and the campers could sense the friction between us.

One day, we were assigned to lead a team-building exercise. As we explained the rules to the campers, our bickering became more intense. "You're doing it wrong," Nicholas snapped. "This isn't how it's supposed to go."

I shot back, "Maybe if you actually listened for once, you'd understand the plan."

The campers looked on, wide-eyed, as the two continued to argue. Eventually, one of the kids timidly suggested, "Maybe you guys could work together like you're asking us to?"

The comment hit home, and both me and Nicholas paused. We realized that our behavior was setting a poor example. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Okay, let's try to get through this without fighting."

Nicholas nodded, and we managed to put aside our differences for the rest of the activity. By the end of the day, we were both exhausted but felt a small sense of accomplishment. We had managed to work together, even if it was just for a short while.

As the sun set, Nicholas found me by the campfire. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. We need to figure out a way to get along for the kids' sake."

I sighed, "Yeah, you're right. Let's try to make this work, at least for the rest of camp."

It wasn't a resolution, but it was a start. And as we sat by the fire, both of us couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, there was more to our animosity than we realized.

At the camp counselors' late-night party, the atmosphere was buzzing with laughter and music. Me and Nicholas arrived with our mutual friend Cooper, who was determined to get them to relax and have a good time. Despite our recent truce, the tension between me and Nicholas was still palpable.

As we mingled, Nicholas accidentally bumped into me, spilling his drink all over me. "Seriously, Nicholas?" I exclaimed, my frustration bubbling up once again.

"It was an accident, princess! You don't have to make such a big deal out of it," Nicholas retorted, his own irritation showing. The nickname pissing me off more.

Cooper, seeing the brewing argument, stepped in. "Hey, you two need to chill out. This party is supposed to be fun, not another battleground for you guys."

I sighed, trying to wipe the drink off my clothes. "It's just... we can't seem to go a day without fighting."

Cooper raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Maybe you two need to let off some steam together. How about you guys just hook up?" He said, half joking half not.

Nicholas looked at me, a reluctant smile forming. "You know what? That actually sounds like a good idea."

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright, you're such a dick. Fuck you" “You wish” he teases.

By the end of the night, the tension between me and Nicholas had raised significantly.

Our days were filled with activities and responsibilities, from leading nature hikes to organizing campfire sing-alongs. At first, our interactions were tense and filled with sarcastic remarks.

But as the days went by, they started to notice things about each other that they hadn't before. Nicholas saw how passionate y/n was about making sure the kids had a great time, and y/n couldn't help but admire Nicholas's ability to make everyone laugh and feel included.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day, we found ourselves alone by the lake. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the water. I was skipping stones, trying to unwind, when Nicholas approached me. "You know, you're not as bad as I thought," he said, breaking the silence. I looked up, surprised. "Coming from you, that's almost a compliment," I replied with a small smile.

We talked for hours, sharing stories and secrets we had never told anyone else. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we had in common. Our walls began to crumble, and the thin line between hate and love started to blur.

Over the past few days, something had shifted. we had been paired together for various activities, and slowly, I found myself warming up to Nicholas. I began to see a different side of him, one that was kind and considerate.

The next day, I was heading back to my cabin when I thought I heard Nicholas talking to someone. I paused, listening intently. My heart sank as I caught bits and pieces of the conversation, convinced he was revealing my secret. Hurt and betrayal washed over me.

When Nicholas noticed me standing there, he immediately saw the look on my face. "Y/n, what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"I heard you," I said, my voice trembling. "I heard you telling someone something I told you in confidence."

Nicholas's eyes widened in shock. "Y/n, I would never do that. I promise you, I didn't say anything to anyone."

But I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. "Why should I trust you?" I asked, my voice cold and distant. "You’ve always been against me."

Nicholas stepped closer, his voice earnest. "Because I care about you, y/n. I would never betray your trust. Please, believe me."

But I shook my head, anger and hurt clouding my judgment. "I can't believe I ever thought you could change," I said, turning away from him.

Nicholas watched her walk away, his heart heavy with regret. He knew he hadn't betrayed her, but convincing her of that now seemed impossible.

As I walked back to the cabin alone, I felt a familiar bitterness returning, the fragile trust we had built shattered in an instant. Ending up right back where we started at the beginning of the summer.

As captains for the camp games, we were supposed to lead by example, but our bickering overshadowed everything else. The campers, fed up with the tension, devised a plan to get us lost in the woods together, hoping it would force us to work things out.

It was Nicholas’s fault we ended up lost. He had insisted on taking a shortcut during one of our competitive scavenger hunts. I had argued against it, but Nicholas was stubborn. "Trust me, I know this forest like the back of my hand," he had said confidently.

But as the sun began to set and the familiar trails disappeared, it became clear that Nicholas had no idea where we were. "Great job, Captain," I muttered sarcastically, crossing my arms as we stood in the middle of nowhere.

Nicholas sighed, frustration evident on his face. "I thought this was the right way. Let's just keep moving; we’ll find our way back."

Hours passed, and the forest seemed to grow denser. We argued about which direction to take, each step leading us further into unfamiliar territory. The campers' plan was not working.

Our bickering is a constant source of tension. Our friends often joked about our rivalry, but neither of us found it amusing. One evening, the argument between us reached a boiling point in the middle of the woods. Where Nicholas got us lost during the camp games.

"You never listen to me!" I shouted, my frustration evident. Nicholas, equally exasperated, fired back, "And you always think you're right!"

My face flushed with anger, and in the heat of the moment, I blurted out, "I hate you, Nicholas!"

Nicholas stood there, stunned. The words hit him harder than any insult ever had. Instead of retaliating, he felt a deep pain in his chest. “Nice one” he says pushing past me continuing walking into the woods. I’m surprised, he usually would reply with some snarky comeback.

Then I realized I never actually said that to him before. Confused I follow after him. “Nic, wait why are you so mad?” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. "do you really mean that?" he asked quietly.

My anger began to waver as I saw the hurt in his eyes. I had expected him to yell back, not to look so wounded. "I... I don't know," I stammered, suddenly unsure of myself.

The tension between us was palpable, each word laced with frustration and unspoken emotions. I finally came back to reality remembering that’s he’s an asshole.

"Yes I do, I hate you, Nicholas! You drive me fucking insane!" I shouted, my eyes blazing with anger.

Nicholas took a step closer, his jaw clenched. "You think I don't feel the same way? You're always in my head, y/n. I can't get you out, and it's maddening!"

Our faces were inches apart, the intensity of our emotions creating a charged atmosphere. Suddenly, without thinking, Nicholas grabbed me and pulled me into a fierce kiss. All the anger, frustration, and hidden feelings poured into that moment, our lips crashing together in a passionate embrace.

My hands found their way to Nicholas's hair, pulling him closer as I kissed him back with equal fervor. The world around us seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of us, lost in the intensity of our connection.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, our eyes locked. "I hate how much I want you," Nicholas whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at him. "Me too," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But maybe we don't have to fight it anymore."

In that moment, everything changed. The walls we built between us came crashing down, leaving us vulnerable and open to the possibility of something more. The fight had revealed the truth we had both been hiding, and as we stood there, surrounded by trees, we realized that our relationship was about to change forever.

After many more minutes of wandering through the dense forest, me and Nicholas finally found our way out. The tension between us had been palpable throughout our ordeal, but now, as we emerged from the woods and saw my cabin in the distance, a sense of relief washed over us. Everyone seemed to have gone to bed after the games.

We hurried towards the cabin, our steps quickening as they got closer. Once inside, I closed the door behind them, and we both stood there, catching our breath. The adrenaline from our adventure still coursed through our veins.

Nicholas looked at me, his eyes intense. "We made it," he said softly, stepping closer to me.

I nodded, my heart racing for a different reason now. "Yeah, we did."

Without another word, Nicholas closed the distance between us, his lips capturing mine in a heated kiss. I responded eagerly, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions we had been holding back.

Nicholas moved us towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. My hands roamed over Nicholas's back, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath his shirt. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap as we continued to kiss passionately.

The cabin was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the soft rustle of clothes as we lost ourselves in each other. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection we felt, the heat between us undeniable.

As we finally pulled back, both breathless and flushed, we looked into each other's eyes, knowing that this was just the beginning of something deeper.

[mustainegf]

sleepy relaxing sweet fluffy cozy warm morning cuddles with current james? i think it would be cute how his white hair probably gets all messed up and fluffy in the morning

THIS IS SOOO CUTE AH

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐍 ²⁰²⁴

Beside me, James stirred, the heat from his body seeped through the blankets. Vanilla morning light shone through the curtains. His arm, in its usual place over my waist, felt better than anything.

I liked the way his body had changed over the years, his skin thick, chiseled from time and life lived. Tattoos stretched on his weathered frame, some a little faded, others as bold as ever. I traced my fingers along the lines of ink, feeling strength beneath his skin. His muscles were still solid, yet there came a softness in him now, one that could break its way through age.

His breath was slow, deep, still heavy. His messy white hair jutted out every which way, unruly from having tossed and turned during the night. His mustache was scruffy, rough against my cheek when he leaned in close to kiss me. His lips were warm, the kiss lazy, unhurried.

"Mornin', baby..." he muttered, his voice deep and gravelly like it always was in the morning.

I smiled into his chest, the rasp of his voice so close. "Morning," I whispered back, my fingers still tracing the lines of his tattoos.

His eyes were lidded and droopy, and opened slowly, catching mine. They were still as bold as ever, even if years had taken some of that edge off.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, his lips planting against my forehead as he spoke.

"Better now," I replied, snuggling closer into his big chest. His smell was so familiar. He smelled like leather, the faint scent of wood and something that was just... James.

He chuckled and his chest tremored under my head. "You're always better in the mornin', huh?" His hand rubbed in slow circles on my back, thick fingers so gentle.

I laughed softly and nodded. "Yeah, especially when you're here." I tilted my head up, catching his eyes once more. Light from the window lit his hair, making the silver and remaining blonde gleam.

He leaned in, his lips touching mine again this time softer, if that was even possible. His mouth stayed put, he had all the time in the world. When he pulled back, his forehead hit mine, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Don't wanna get up yet," he mumbled.

"Then don't," I whispered back, my hand dropping to his chest, his heart steadily thudding.

He laughed again. "You say that like I have a choice." His hand tightened around my waist, drawing me even closer in. "But I like this. Just you, me, and a lazy mornin'."

I could feel his heartbeat pump beneath my palm. His body was warm, and although the years were catching up, I couldn't be more in love. His hands were rough, calloused from years of playing guitar and working his ass off. Yet they were always gentle when they touched me.

"I like it too..." I whispered, leaning to press my lips against his chest, just over his heart.

He sighed, the sound content, and rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. I draped myself over him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply.

"You're staring," he chuckled, still sounding groggy. His eyes opened, glancing down at me with a smirk.

"Maybe," I admitted, smiling up at him.

"Admiring the view?" he teased, his hand running through his messy hair, managing to make it worse.

"Something like that," I smile, my fingers running over the tattoos on his arm again. I loved every single one of them.

He shifted slightly, his arm tightening around me. "You know, I'm not what I used to be.

I looked up at him, my brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" his voice quieter.

"I'm older now. Slower. Not the same guy I was." I shook my head, my hand on his chest again. "You're still you. You're still strong. And you're mine. That's all that matters."

He stared at me a moment longer before a slow smile spread over his features. "Yeah, guess you're right."

I smiled back, leaning in to kiss him again. When I pulled back, his eyes remained on mine.

"Besides," I said, grinning, "you look pretty damn good for 61."

He chuckled loudly. "I'll take that," he said, his hand moving up and down my bare back. "But you make me feel younger."

I leaned in and kissed him again, his bare skin against mine. "I love you just the way you are."

His hand was against my cheek, his thumb gently caressed my body. "I love you too, baby," he whispered back.

Finally, he let out a great sigh and shifted beneath me. "We really should get up," he said.

"Do we have to?" I whined, faking a pout knowing he knew I didn't mean it.

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "I guess we could stay a little longer."

I smiled, burrowing into his chest. "Good. I'm not ready to let you go yet."

He pressed his lips against the top of my head, his kiss lingering. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered quietly.

We lay silently, until his hand found mine, our fingers intertwining. It was a comforting heat, to be wrapped up in him. There was nowhere else I'd rather be.

"Guess we're stuck here, then," he said with a playful grin.

I smiled, shutting my eyes and laying my head on his chest. "Yeah," I whispered. "And I'm perfectly okay with that."

[shalomniscient]

nightmare. || various x reader

Sometimes pasts have difficulty staying buried. You help her through it all the same.

cw. allusions to childhood trauma/abuse, descriptions of nightmares

notes. in a hurt comfort kinda mood. also look she's formatting

ARLECCHINO

She's back there again.

The walls are cast in shadows, and there is not a single candle to light the darkened halls, making it seem as if it stretched on endlessly. The curtains are drawn shut, thick velvet suffocating any sliver of light. All along the halls are closed doors. The air is thick and stagnant, resting heavy on her shoulders like a blanket. Arlecchino— no, Peruere, takes a step forward. Then another, and another. She passes door after door after door. They seem more like headstones than anything else, and the house almost seems like a corpse itself.

Almost.

Because for as much as the house is still, it is not silent. Behind each door she hears the cry of an agonized child; the clash of steel on steel; the crunch of a shovel on dry earth. The sound of blood dripping onto wooden floorboards echo in time with her beating heart. With each step, another door carves itself out of the smooth walls. Doors, doors, doors all the way down, endlessly. She feels the urge to burn rise inside her—oxygen and a spark, with only herself as kindling.

Red explodes the corners of her vision. Red, like blood. Pristine white walls turn black, and the wailing only grows louder, a cacophony of pain and misery and anguish. Smoke bleeds from beneath the door frames like dragon's breath. They remain shut. She claps her hands around her ears—it burns, it burns, it burns—and smoke settles in her lungs—it burns, it burns, it burns—and then the flames swallow Peruere whole—

Arlecchino wakes up.

Her back is uncomfortably damp, and she sits up slowly, the blankets falling from her chest down to her waist. Her heart rattles in her chest, and she has to blink several times to clear the redness from her vision. Her forearms feel painfully hot, as if she'd been standing far too close to a fire. She breathes in slowly—in, out, in, out. She tells herself she is not there anymore, that she is safe, that she is home.

Tonight, however, it doesn't seem to work. Arlecchino sighs, running a hand through her mussed hair. But then she regrets it immediately—because the sound causes you to stir, a slow yawn escaping you as you blink your eyes open, squinting up at her from where your cheek is pressed to your pillow. She can see the haze of drowsiness still covering your irises, and the way your hair is ruffled from moving in your sleep, and the tiny trail of dried drool from the corner of your mouth. You’re still waking up, but the haze clears the longer your gaze lingers on her.

"Bad dream?" you mumble groggily, not pushing up from the pillow but nonetheless lifting an arm to cup her jaw in your palm. Your touch is cool against her heated skin, and she leans into it almost instinctively. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, and the most she can manage is a wordless nod. You hum at that, your thumb stroking the arch of her cheekbones. "Guess you won't be going back to sleep, huh?"

She shakes her head. No.

"Well," you yawn again, "I won't be letting you do paperwork either at this hour."

She opens her mouth to protest—then closes it immediately following the very stern look you shoot her. You lie still for a moment, contemplating what to do with her, and Arlecchino takes the time to trace your features, noting the drowsy slope of your eyes and the relaxed lines of your face. Your chest rises and falls slowly with each breath, and before she knows it she’s breathing in time with you and calming her racing heart.

"You know, I could do with a cuddle buddy," you say eventually, rolling over and spreading your arms wide. "I’ve never done well with the cold."

Arlecchino rolls her eyes at your shameless wheedling, but she doesn't refuse. Instead, she shifts and gently lays on top of you, her arms looping around your back as she holds you to her chest. Her face finds the delicate slope where your shoulder meets your neck, and she breathes in deeply again. A cool night breeze slips through the slight opening of the window by the bed, tossing the curtains and letting a pale sliver of silver moonlight dance on the lines of your bodies, pressed close enough they may as well be one. You press a kiss to her temple as your hands splay over her broad back.

She still doesn't sleep that night, but she rests, and the fire in the back of her mind is now nothing more than a softly crackling hearth.

KUJOU SARA

Sara sighs as she sits on the engawa, one leg tucked beneath her and the other hanging off the edge. Her yukata is loosened and rather mussed from the way she’d been tossing and turning in her sleep, crumpled in a way that her father would’ve once disciplined her for. Sara squeezes her eyes shut at the thought, a strained, bitter laugh slipping from her lips. Even though he is long gone, rotting in some jail cell beneath Tenshukaku, she will never truly escape him.

In the end, she is Takayuki’s daughter, through and through.

The tense line of her shoulders falters, and her head drops. The water in the pond by the engawa ripples, distorting her reflection into unrecognisable waves. Without her consistent control, her wings slip open, unfurling slowly, the joints creaking from disuse. They ache, and her expression twists from the discomfort—intense enough that she doesn’t even notice the door sliding open until your gentle touch brushes her back.

She startles, jerking forward and spinning around only to meet your concerned eyes. When you note her surprise, you tilt your head and offer an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shifting forward slightly to kneel behind her, “I should’ve said something first.”

Sara breathes in deep, letting the air expand her lungs, then shakes her head. “No, no, it’s alright… I was just, ah— lost in thought.”

“Mhm,” you hum, clearly not convinced. Your hand drops, instead reaching for her own on the engawa. You intertwine your fingers with hers with a softness she never really felt before you, and Sara has to fight the urge to draw back like some frightened animal in response. Instead she swallows thickly as your thumb brushes ever so gently over her knuckles. “Nothing pleasant, I assume.”

There’s no accusation in your tone, only a quiet factuality. Sara’s wings twitch, involuntarily, before any resistance she might have had withers away. She squeezes her hand around yours, leaning forward ever so slightly to rest her head against yours. You don’t pull away, remaining right where you are and letting her seek the comfort of closeness from you. The frightened animal in her heart presses up against you, and you hold it tenderly, smoothing down those ruffled feathers.

“The usual,” she says, a little hoarsely. “About my father…”

Your expression darkens just a fraction at the mention of Takayuki. You’ve hated him ever since you found out what he’d done—and sometimes, Sara thinks you hate him on her behalf as well, since she can’t seem to be able to. Not yet, at least. Before he was a traitor, he was the man who took her in from the streets, the man who gave her direction and purpose and a name, and she would not be the person she is today without him. It is not love, most certainly not—but it clings to her all the same, and she has not yet learned how to shed this weight completely yet. But you kiss her temple all the same, and her heart feels a little lighter as well.

“You don’t have to continue,” you say softly, and Sara slumps against you further. Your free hand rises up to gently press along her spine, between her wings, massaging the tense muscle there. Sara breathes in shakily, and you pause. “Too much?”

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head against you. “No, no, it’s— it’s good. Don’t stop. Please?”

You chuckle softly, then nod, resuming your touches. You continue until Sara feels the drowsiness start to return to her, creeping up her spine from the pads of your fingers to the back of her eyes. Her head slips down to your shoulder, and from there she can see the pond by the engawa. The water has calmed, and in the mirror-like reflection she sees herself again, but she also sees you.

In the end, she is still Takayuki’s daughter—but she is, learning, one night at a time, that she is also more than that. When she falls asleep, she dreams of a clear blue sky, and the wind in her feathers and in her hair sings a song of freedom in your voice.

[floosies]

knuck if you buck

rafe cameron x poc!kook fem

summary: rafe tries to stop his gf from mollywhoppin her opp

a/n: for my girlies with ✨rage✨ issues 🤍

you would think rafe found the female version of himself with his girlfriend. she was spoiled, hard headed, and with a temper as short as a blade of grass.

she was younger than him by year, money driven, and couldnt stand when people talked about her behind her back. which didn't take long for rafe to learn.

they'd only been together for a couple of months when she got wind that one of rafe's friends called her a possible gold digger. needless to say she caught the guy off guard at one of the parties and caught him off guard with a bottle of casamigos to the head. she didnt wait to start swinging on him afterwards, her rings and bracelets started to become from her hits. it took rafe, kelce and topper all together to get her off him.

and as soon as she was off him, her anger landed at rafe, "let your fuckin frat bro friends know that if they wanna call me a gold digger again they better say that shit with their whole chest."

-

rafe wasnt intimitated by her at all, if anything her anger made him feel some sort of way. but still, he knew that they couldnt both be wild cards. so he did what he could to keep her peaceful.

unfortunately most of the kook kids were too entitled for their own good. especially the other kook girls who had issues with her because she had her own money and was never afraid to flaunt it, plus she wasnt much into the whole kook v. pogue bullshit.

this led to her getting into it with some girl topper started seeing during the fall. come summer though, she'd warned rafe she shouldnt be left alone in the same room with the girl or else she wouldnt be held responsible for handling business.

he did his best to keep the two far away from each other but topper being topper wanted to talk to rafe privately at some kook event which led to her being left alone with topper's girlfriend who wasted no time talking her bullshit.

getting beside her and taunting, "i dont understand how rafe would wanna be with a girl who associates with pogues. its a bit weird." she rolled her eyes her words leaving her mouth seamlessly, "what's really weird is the way your eyebrows look like they're trying to take over your face. you should also invest in some mints or something halatosis is never cute but i guess topper is always too drunk to notice your bunk breath, whore."

she felt the drink hit her new blouse and as topper's girlfriend started laughing it was cutoff by bejewled fist connecting with her jaw. rafe only had a moment to react as he heard people begin to cheer on the fight, well the sad attempt at a fight. his girlfriend was smacking and punching topper's girlfriend with a force. he knew she'd waited for the day but he didnt need this right now.

all he could do was sigh and say a quick, "fuck" as he pulled her off topper's girl whose face looked a crime scene. now he wondered if this was how his friends had felt all those times in the past. once they were in his truck he cut the silence, "i know she had it coming but people are going to start seeing you like a pyschopath." she rolled her eyes, "i hope they do so they know not to fuck with me. you know how I am rafe, you dont have to be with me-" with a quickness he cut her off "hey! no! i didnt fucking say that either!"

he looked over at her, her hands and rings bloodied, her eyes somewhat sad but looking at him with that puppy gaze, "i love you and your crazy ass way, you know that. but sadly we gotta interact with these people. so try and be good please." she rolled her eyes, but with a sigh nodded, "okay i promise." then she gave him a little kiss as he kept driving, "now take me to your place so you can clean me up. thoroughly." rafe chuckled shaking his head, "yeah baby, i got it. daddy's gonna fix you up real good."

author tags: @xxbimbobunnyxx

[pix-writes]

for requests. . . how about an x reader where reader pegs Ford 👀? Is he open to the idea?

Oh I think we can arrange such a thing! >:) Hope you enjoy!

Ford x F!Reader | In Theory and in Practice

Notes/tags: Ford and reader have some limited past experiences, but tried to keep it a little vague. That said though, I do allude to them to be both bi/had experiences with someone of the same sex as them. Anal smut, some Dom/sub dynamics and switching.

NSFW 18+ below cut, so MDNI!

The subject comes up from you, the conversations you get into around pleasure with Ford often end up in the logical sphere, starting lightly before anything more heated can arise. It was something to enjoy about your partnership, comforting in the pragmatic and somewhat direct, open way in which Ford spoke about such things. It reduced both of your anxieties and any reservations that you had about bringing up anything that you wanted.

Your partner still got flustered, however, and you were a little tentative in how you brought up this next subject.

"I never got to try it in any of my other relationships with men, some seem to think it's not important to involve the prostate in sex."

"The prostate when stimulated gives men pleasure, so I see no reason why it should not be, um, paid attention to. I certainly haven't had any reservations when I have been on my own, in the past."

"And with others?"

Ford did blush a little at this. "In relationships with other men, yes. And with you."

"Yes, but technically it was you who was doing it, Ford." You paused to take a breath before asking your next question. "What if I did?"

Your partner looked stunned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I'd never thought about it before?"

You ask him if he ever heard of pegging, he hadn't and you did your best to lay out what it meant, slowly, despite your eagerness at Ford's receptiveness, so far.

"But how would you...?" Was one of his questions and you couldn't help but giggle. You knew he didn't like to be on the backfoot or feel that you were laughing at his expense, but how could you not help but be amused by his perplexed expression, his innocence when it came to the gaps in his knowledge?

"Oh Ford, have I not told you yet about the wonders of silicone?!"

Ford didn't take long to mull over the decision on whether he would like to explore it, in fact, you knew him to be as eager as you were, despite never knowing about pegging before bringing it up, though none of this should have surprised you, you thought, looking back on it. Ford wasn't a stereotypical man and did not have many qualms when it came to experiencing new things. All the more reason you were excited! Though you knew that he was going to take his time with researching it, but you could wait.

As the days passed he added his small questions about what you had planned, one here, one there. He would hum and nod and maybe ask for more clarification or an adjustment. In fact, he inisted that you practice putting the strap on you ordered, once it came.

"Can I see it?"

"I think the straps are too tight, how do I-?" You were glancing around for the instructions, to see Ford already had them to hand.

"Here, like this." He gently tugs on the threads and it loosens, relieving the indents that were already appearing over your skin.

Self consciousness ate at you, unable to hide that you felt so clueless you let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry! This is... it just feels silly!"

"It is a little bizarre!" Ford joins in with your laughter. "But preparation makes all the difference, my dear."

Once it came to the moment, however, Ford had forgotten what a disparity there was between theory and practice! It had been so long since he had ever been in this position (metaphorically, rather than physically in the same position... but, you get the idea!) and he was starting to remember how vulnerable it can feel...

You've been working him open steadily, using plenty of lube that you kept beside you, Ford encouraging you and helping direct your movements to what he found most pleasurable, voice strained already.

He could feel that pressure and heat from how you slide in, one of your hands coming to soothingly rub at his back, reminding him to relax into it, to adjust. When he gives you encouragement to move, he can feel your form pressing into his. Your hold on him was so gentle, the tenderness made him feel like he was adrift.

He cried out as you set a firmer pace and you stilled for a moment.

"Ford?"

He groaned. "Keep... keep going, baby."

Ford reaches round to find your hand and you let him intertwine your fingers together, placing your hand further forward so the hold would be comfortable.

"You're doing so well. You know that?" You placed kisses over his shoulder before resuming your steady pace. " So good for me, Ford."

The toy that you had gotten was one that had an end that sat just inside your entrance, the pressure of it working you up. Arousal pooling in your belly as you thrust your hips into him.

He looked so beautiful underneath you, his back arched. God, he was a sight to behold. And so you told him, words spoken as you caught your breath. Knowing the words were affecting him from experience if not from the way his breathing changed, those little noises he made that you so desperately wanted to hear, the ones that went straight to your core.

You were taking your time though and Ford began to rock back into your touch, impatient.

Ford whined your name, turning his head, pupils blown wide. "Don't hold back."

It was somewhat rare that he ever got into an impatient mood, the man was unflappable most of the time. A wicked smile started to spread across your face as you tapped at his side, getting to move upwards, into more of a sitting position before grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling him back into your chest, an arm coming to rest across his broad chest as he squirmed.

"What was that, hm?"

"Ah, please! Please, I want you to touch me, please."

"So polite." You said teasingly.

Adjusting your grip on his hair your pace became firmer, hand roaming down his chest to touch his achingly hard cock.

"That's it." Ford's moans were rising into a delicious background orchestra and you prided yourself on the knowledge that you had worked him up so much.

"W-wait! I want to see you when I- want to touch you, please?" His voice wavered, unsure of his own wants when he was so close to the edge.

"This is about you, Ford." You considered for a moment. "But you can turn around, if you wish."

It was a more awkward shuffle compared to the last, but the break in the tension didn't last long; the heat rising to your face as you saw how wrecked Ford looked, hair stuck up at different angles. Legs rising to wrap around you, the muscles there flexing against your hips. You wondered what you must've looked like to him in such a position, when the roles were reversed. Was this why he liked it?

Ford was practically melting into the mattress by the time your hands were on him again. That first rate brain of his switching off thoughts and transferring to focus on pleasure. He pulled you in so that he could kiss you, in between your praises and moans.

"So good for me, darling."

"Such a good boy."

"Fuck, cum for me!"

Eyes focused on your angelic face above him, he came. His release coating his stomach, and your hand, still firm on his cock as he rode his orgasm out with a shuddering moan.

Pulling out, you collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, letting Ford take over. First wiping you both down, then releasing you from the strap, soon replacing the end of the toy with his fingers, his mouth grazing your breast hungrily as he laid beside you.

He cursed under his breath. "Oh, sweetheart, you're soaked."

Hot kisses trailed across your skin. "You don't have to. T-this, mmn, was about you."

He tutted, a glint entering his eyes. "But I thought I was your good boy. Don't you want me to make you cum? You've gotten so wet for me."

You whimpered, answering with a nod as you carded hand through his hair, gently, this time.

[eternal-love]

Star

gif isn’t mine, it’s: @beautifulbutler

Pairing: Peyton Leverett x female!reader/you

+18 (smut, blowjob, going down in a girl, y’know the drill)

Summary: You decide to help Peyton out on his new project, you’ll be his subject, or as he calls you, his star. Things take a turn when you give him a more exciting thing to film.

You met Peyton once in Central Park, you had tripped over and all the contents of your bag had basically fallen out your bag. He helped you and since he was hot, you started talking to him. Hanging out with him.

He told you all about his short and long films, about how his teacher loved them. And how his hobby was still heavily involved with the career he studied in NYU. He told you that he was looking for another person to film and he said you were interesting.

You didn’t know if to feel flattered or insulted, did he see something interesting in a weird or a cool way? Whatever it was, it meant that Peyton had his eyes set on you, and you liked it. So you agreed.

You were just going to help a friend out, right?

So you made sure to look your best as you got ready, fixing your hair a thousand times in front of the mirror, applying different lipsticks, changing a thousand times. Suddenly you had forgotten what colors he liked.

Maybe helping a friend out didn’t mean shaving, or using your best perfume.

But even the taxi driver complimented your perfume, the smell that impregnated his small taxi. Happy that the old man, who spent the whole ride saying that you remembered him of his daughter.

You finally made it to Peyton’s apartment studio, taking deep breaths, you knocked and he opened the door.

“Hi, sorry but the traffic was horrible.” You apologized for being exactly ten minutes late.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I have all day.” Peyton let you in, smiling. His studio apartment was neat, not the most clean you’ve seen but you’ve seen worse. He had his camera in his desk, you sat down on in front of the window where he had a small chair.

“Nothing is rehearsed or script. I’ll just ask you some questions and you answer them.”

“I don’t think the camera likes me so much.” You chuckled, putting strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll make it work. Remember, you are my star today.” He pointed at you with a smile.

You smiled, feeling flattered. His star. Just his. He started recording you, making zooms of your face as you fixed yourself once again.

He asked rather normal questions, your age, your name, your hometown. You could ramble about your hometown and family for hours.

“Why did you come to New York?” Peyton asked, zooming into your face.

“Well, I want what everyone wants when they come to NYC. Success. I believed that it would be very different from my hometown. It is, but everyone here is different too. You don’t just stand out in a crowd, and because everyone here is so different, you get lost in between all the faces.”

You said, coming to New York with big aspirations only for them to be shattered as you find out that everyone here came with the same dream.

“A dreamer. I like it.” Peyton chuckled. “And your parents? Did they support you?”

“My dad did, he drove me all the way from my hometown to Madison Square Garden. My mother, I think it was hard for her. She definitely didn’t know what I would be up to. She probably thought I would end up as an exotic dancer…” you laughed, covering your mouth.

“Don’t. It’s pretty and it makes it more raw.” Peyton said, smiling at you. “My teacher likes it when the films focus on the real subject.”

You nod, licking your lips and continuing to speak. “Yes. I know she misses me, that she can’t stop thinking of me. I guess she worries, when you tell your mother that you dance at a club, they think the worse. And I get it. But I like it. I like dancing in the club, I’m not a stripper or a hooker. I just like being on stage. It’s not Broadway but I belong there.”

Peyton was basically enamored by you, more than being his subject, he had made it obvious that you were his star. The two of you had a break to eat, ordering Chinese food as you sat on a small table he had.

“The camera loves you. And I’m sure my teacher will too.” Peyton spoke, his mouth full.

“I never thought I would get this sincere, it’s strangely freeing.” You say, you tried to reach for a napkin but end up knocking the bottle of soda down. Wetting everything. “Shit! Sorry, let me—”

“There’s a rag on my desk.” Peyton tried to remain calm. He hated messes but, it was you. He didn’t care.

You nodded, going to his desk and scanning for a towel or something. Going through the first drawers, your eyes widened at the sight of lotion and Playboy magazines.

“Damn, you’ve been spending your money right.” You said, smirking.

“That’s private. Thank you.” Peyton practically rushed by your side, wanting to take the magazines from you.

“I don’t even want to see why they’re sticked together.” You laugh again. His face was flushed.

“I like having options. And they’re only fourteen dollars anyways.”

You turned to face him. You know, since he mentioned how the film would be filmed, you couldn’t help but think of the Audition format in porn videos.

You know, you get to the audition couch, you sit down. They ask you to slowly strip down until you’re butt naked. They compliment you, then they proceed to fuck you senseless while recording you.

You wouldn’t have done it with anyone else. But it was Peyton. You yearned for him to do that.

“You’ve ever done anything else apart from interviews?” You asked him, as he sat behind the camera.

“Yes? I don’t do much. It’s my style.”

“You’ve never had any girl flirt with you? I don’t know.”

“I haven’t brought many girls here. Only the other girls that live here.” Peyton shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, so you have brought girls back.” You teased him with a smirk. He blushed, his cheeks and ears were pink.

“Yes, I have. Is that a crime? A guy has needs.” He confessed while chuckling, a bit ashamed. But they were friends, right? “Look, I’m just doing this to practice. I guess. For fun too. That’s why I’m letting you swear.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never thought of ever filming yourself having sex?” You asked, staring right at him.

“I’ve thought of it. But— I’m scared of one day sending that video to my professor. Or showing Sharpay the wrong video.”

“It could be fun. Just saying.”

It was just harmless fun, was it not?

“Are you sure?” He asked you. Just imagining you on all fours in his bed made his jeans feel tighter.

“Damn sure.” Peyton didn’t waste a minute in closing his curtains and placing the camera on his desk, recording his bed.

It didn’t take long before you two were making out on the bed. He appeared to be extra hungry for this kind of feeling. The lust, the edge, everything. Perhaps NYU had been everything in his mind lately that he forgot he could have fun too.

And you? Too many lonely nights in your miserable no-bedroom apartment. Too many miserable nights watching whatever FOX was playing.

So when you got the chance to touch Peyton’s hard cock, you didn’t waste it. He grunted as you touched it and squeezed it lightly. His tongue fighting yours as he grabs your face to keep you close. Unbuttoning his pangs, you get yourself on top of the bed completely.

But he was significantly stronger, making it easier for him to pin you down on the bed. His lips making their way to your neck. There’s a chill going down your spine. When was the actual last time you time you had sex? Because you don’t even remember it.

“You smell so good.” He groaned on your neck, leaving love bites wherever he pleased. He was quick go pull down your skirt, leaving you in just your panties. He moved on to take off your shirt, his mouth going directly to your breasts, sucking on them.

“You taste so good.” He muttered against your skin. He took off your bra quickly, his hand agile enough to do it in a snap. He kissed softly, your neck, your chest, your stomach, until he reached your underwear.

One of his hands found their way to your clothed and wet slit, his fingers softly gracing your throbbing pussy. He began rubbing you softly through the panties, gently and not really following a pattern, but making you feel like you were about to touch heaven.

“Do you like that?” He purred softly, his head turning to look at the camera for a few seconds. Making sure it was recording.

“Y-yes…” you whispered softly, making his press his fingers even more, you whined in response.

“Talk louder or the camera won’t pick it up, baby.” He said, his tone a bit forceful.

You didn’t answer. That only made him basically pull your panties down, pulling your thighs apart, the camera getting a one-person pov of your throbbing pussy. His finger immediately went to your sensitive bud, circling with slow touches.

You moaned even louder, your back arching as your hair became a mess underneath you. You began panting, and he was just rubbing you.

“I’ll make you feel good for the camera. It will love seeing you moan for me.” Peyton muttered as he kept rubbing your core before suddenly stopping. You whined, but he didn’t give you much enough time to think before he moved you around the bed, making sure you laid correctly as she positioned his head between your legs, kissing your pelvis, your thighs until his mouth found your core.

His tongue flicking in and out as he devoured you relentlessly, tasting you whole. He knew was he was doing, attacking your sensitive pussy, he wanted to capture how you had been the one with the idea yet you had let him posses you. How you squirmed under him and only him. How he had this sort of power over you. His tongue moving in ways you didn’t know it could, as you felt yourself coming undone over him. You grabbed his blond locks, so that he wouldn’t tease you again and stop without warning. Bucking your hips against his face.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna!—“ and you finished, he devoured your orgasm as if he were a thirsty man. Tasting your sweet cum on his lips and tongue. You were left panting, but not for long as he suddenly crawled on top of you, capturing your lips for yet another kiss.

He took off his pants and threw them anywhere, taking off his tshirt, and his boxers. He was well endowed, very well-endowed. Grabbing his cock with his hand, he didn’t waste a single second before entering you. Making him groan loudly, and you whimpered, your eyes rolling at the back of your head. He started off slow, very slow, so you’d get used to his size. You felt his cock stretching every single part of your right pussy, if he wasn’t made for you and you for him then you don’t know who else could match up.

“You’re so good for me. So eager.” He said, before grabbing your chin and making you look at the camera in the desk. “The camera loves you, can’t you see?”

His pace started to escalate. His thrusts were a bit more determined and strong. Your hips rolling too. One of his hands went to your breasts, tracing the outline of them, pinching your nipples.

“So perfect for me. So perfect for the camera.” He said, his mouth going to kiss your breast. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the studio apartment. “I’ll ruin you for other guys. They won’t have a thing on me, I promise you that.” He basically groaned out, oh, he wanted you all for himself.

His pace and thrusts became more rapid, deep and harsh, making you squirm around him as you moaned. Were you trying to control yourself? No, you wanted all the girls that ever flirted with him that you were marking territory. As weird as that may sound, you wanted Peyton all for yourself. Because, how could you ever let his guy go?

His body slamming into yours, feeling your walls tightening around his cock. You two were lost on each other, the way his face was buried on your neck, just wanting to never forget how you smelled, how you taste, how you sound.

A minutes later, you both finished at the same time. He buried himself as deep as he could, filling her up.

“Austin…”

“Y/n…”

They both repeated out of breath, almost in the way you would say amen after a prayer. He laid on top of you for a few seconds, his hand rubbing your cheek. He let you rest for a few minutes.

“I’ll reward you, and I’ll give you the best closing scene.” You told him. As you sat up from the bed, your legs trembling a little, grabbing his camera from the desk and giving it to him.

He stood up from the bed too, confused as he held the camera. He was confused until he saw you kneel you in front of him. Just the sight of you going on your knees made him get hard again. The camera was huge but that did not stop him from finding a good angle.

“You’re a star.” He said, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“You said I was your star today.” You said, as you leaned to place small kisses on his pelvis, he resisted the urge of already making her swallow his cock whole.

“You like what you see, baby?” He asked, his cock on full display for you and the camera to see. He gripped her hair, tangling in his hands. “Be a good baby. Show the camera how good you are to me.” He purred.

You licked his dripping tip, before slowly wrapping your lips on his cock, moaned and groaned. Oh, you were good.

“F-fuck.” He moaned, but he kept the camera steady. He wouldn’t have to buy Playboy magazines anymore. “You were made for the camera. Look at you.”

You never bit him or hurt him, you were just perfect, you just had the most perfect mouth. Made just for him, just for his size, just for his cock.

“I’m not going to last very long…” He warned you, bucking his hips too, making you gag, your eyes watery as you were relentlessly sucking him down. His body was tense, in need to release himself. You looked up at him with your widened eyes. Oh, he got off on that too, it nearly made him cum on your throat right then in there.

“I can’t- I won’t last…” He forced out his voice, strained. You couldn’t help but pull away from him for a moment. He gasped, trying to keep himself on control. You stared up at the camera.

“Swallow or face?” You asked him. Just the image of him coming all over your face or making you swallow made him even more weaker.

“Face.” He said quickly. He would rather watch the video in repeat on his you’re covered in his cum than having to imagine you swallowing.

You nod. You spat in your own hand. Now using your hand to please him. Waiting for him to have his climax. It didn’t take long before his face contracted. His cum all over her face.

“Oh… God!” He groaned.

You licked your lips. You never allowed guys to finish in your face. Not even. You didn’t even blow them. But Peyton, damn, he deserved it. He kept recording you, your beautiful face all drenched in his juices. He stopped recording and placed the camera on his bed.

He pulled you up to you feet and kissed you, tasting himself as his tongue made his way into your own mouth. He pulled away. His thumb cleaned your cheek, recollecting some of his cum in it, he brought it to your lip, making you lick it clean.

“I think I’ll need you to star in more of my films.”

Author’s note: this was the most embarrassing things I’ve ever written. I don’t ever write this ‘overly-detailed’ smut. But I tried. This was oh-so-deeply inspired by Austin’s character in NCSI: New York too. Where he plays a porn star.

I hope you guys like it! Love you all! 🫶💕

[badomensgoodomens]

RIFFS AND REGRETS - noah sebastian - part two

part one here

______________________________________

hi, i have ultimately decided that after a week i absolutely hate this storyline and believe i can do better lol. i had intended to progress further after this chapter, but it is suitable to stop here.

_______________________________________

Hadn’t planned on waking up in a shitty emergency tent during the festival of a lifetime, much less the angry danielle who was standing over me lecturing me. 

“Are you fucking stupid?? You were so dehydrated that the adrenaline made you faint!! We talked about this- that is the number one rule of touring-” “danielle-” “you had me worried sick!! That is so not cool-” “danielle!!” i shout, overwhelmed. “Fuck- did i hit my head on the way down?” i ask, rubbing my face.

 “Uhhuh, leo said you went down like a ton of bricks, hit your ribs on the fuckin toilet bowl.” i groan, leaning my head back. “He was watching you, yaknow.” she says. I pause, looking up at her in utter confusion. “Who?” “noah. From the artist tent.” i close my eyes with a sigh at that information. “Thanks for sharing.” i mumble, trying to ignore the stinging coming from my ribs. 

“You can't keep ignoring him, you know.” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to another, hand resting on her pregnant belly. “He broke my fuckin heart dani.” i reply, too exhausted to put up a proper fight. “Oh please. You didn’t even date.” she says, vic comes up behind her. “Who?” he says, wrapping his arms around danielles stomach. “He who shall not be named.” dani retorts, leaning her head on his shoulder. “She STILL stalks my insta. I am NOT talking to him. Hes probably cheating with poppy anyways. Shes pretty.” i say, sitting up a bit. “Arabella, you're one stupid bitch.” 

____________________

The next morning i have a much needed shower, i stand infront of the foggy bathroom mirror in nothing but a plain black set, admiring the nasty ass bruise that littered my left rib. Yikes. I shimmy into a stage outfit, now ruined by the bruise i adorned. 

I managed to limp backstage with the help of vic, who set me down on a random, rundown couch with a bottle of water. I lean back with closed eyes, until the weight shifts that is. I crack an eye open, nicholas sits next to me. “So i’m just ticking you all off one by one huh?” i murmur, closing my eyes. “You could say that i guess. Hey i heard through the grapevine about what happened yesterday. You okay?” i take a sip of water, allowing the cold liquid to soothe my throat before speaking again. “This water is good.” “you didn’t answer my question.” he uncrosses his arms, leaning back a little. “I don’t want to lie to you” i shoot back. He grins. “Ive missed you, bella.” he side hugs me, narrowly missing my bruise. I just hum in response. “Hows the rockstar life?” i ask, he tilts his head. “Its okay i guess. I really do miss having you around bella-” he starts again. “Hey, we’re on in five.” noah calls out, briefly walking past the room, he avoids eye contact. 

Its almost like im a thorn in his side. 

I probably am, honestly. 

______________________________

I can’t even lie, bad omens stage presence is phenomenal. Its exhilarating and exhausting all at the same time. They give every concert their all, its admirable. However, unfortunately we were allocated the time slot AFTER them. I hobble towards side stage, taking deep breaths. Leo gives me one of his bullshit pep talks. “I’m not even anxious, just unsure how im supposed to do this.” i laugh, pulling myself up the stairs. 

“Hey australia how we feeling!!!??” I call out, genuinely trying  to muster up ANY ounce of energy. “So yesterday i took quite the fall, and now im covered in bruises, so i need YOU guys to give it your all!!” 

We launch right into our set, the crowd menacing once again. During each set i allocated 5 minutes at the end to play whatever song i please. 

“So i intended to perform doomed today, because i know yall love oli sykes. But considering im uhhh a bit.. Limited. We are gonna sing a bit of sleep token.” 

Gene begins to play the opening chords to “the love you want” 

Everyone and their mother knew how much i loved sleeptoken, how much noah did. However i was dumbfounded when i spotted him standing side stage, his gaze boring into the bruises on my left side. Fuck. this just got an awful lot more awkward. I finish off on stage, managing to slip past him in a timely manner despite being injured. I collapse on to a leather couch, exhausted. 

I lay there for a while, watching the different bands filter past. Eventually, i hobble my ass out of there, humming mindlessly. 

“Give by sleeptoken huh?” 

I actually nearly shit myself, my heart falling to my ass. 

“Can i help you?” i respond, turning around to face noah. I can’t pinpoint what flashes across his face. “Its been a while arabella.” he shifts awkwardly. I nod, we stand awkwardly, the wind picks up. “We should really talk.” he breaks the silence, taking a step forward. 

I step backwards, muttering “ill think about it.” before escaping to my bus. I shut and lock the bus door, sliding down it. Shit. Shit. I just fucking ran away from him. 

“You good?” leo asks, handing me a beer. “Just ran into noah.” i breathe out, taking a sip. He joins me on the floor. “How’d that go? You wanna talk about it?” i sigh. Gene and lucy join us. “What even happened between you two” lucy questions, cradling a vodka cruiser. 

“He started dating this girl and got really distant. She told him to drop me, eventually i got so sick of it i tried to walk out and we got into an argument. He said… some stuff, so i got the hell out of there.” i summarise, avoiding eye contact. Leo elbows me, “you wanna say the rest?” 

I cringe, the whole situation not having been my best moment. 

“Okaywellyeahihadacrushonhim butineveractedonitsoidontknowwhyshewassomad-”             

Leo laughs. 

“Im fuckin doomed for eternity, he wants to talk” 

____________________________

“I think you should.” danielle says, crowded around a bar table in a bustling underground joint. I shake my head. “Do i even bother though? How do i know hes not going to just reprimand me for what happened?” i groan, my head in my hands. Vic hands me a much needed drink. I sigh, unsure of what to really do with myself. 

A couple drinks in, vic whisks dani away to the dancefloor, leaving me alone. I toy with the straw of my drink, running my fingers over the rim. Somebody sits opposite me. I look up, meeting the eyes of folio. “You okay?” he asks, signature grin slapped across his face. “I’m good, you?” i answer, trying to make smalltalk. He replies with a nod, downing the rest of his drink. “Shouldn’t you be with the boys?” my voice is quiet, small. “Nicholas and noah are god knows where. Jollys chatting up some girl. Didn’t wanna kill his vibe. Plus you looked sad so….” 

Right. He was only here because he pitied me. Just like the rest of them. “”Nick, it was great talking to you but i think im gonna head back to the buses.” I say, packing my things up. “Oh- okay. Get there safely.” he smiles, pulling me into a hug. I step out, exhausted. I slip towards the side alley, reaching for a cigarette in my bra. I lean my head back on the cold brick wall, the night air was cold compared to the short dress i was wearing. I was honestly a mess… this was all so…. Confronting. 

I wait patiently for my uber, wanting to get the hell out of here. “You got a lighter?” i gulp, turning around. Im face to face with his chest. Fuck i forgot hes a fucking giant. I look up at him, nodding. I watch him light a joint, leaning on the wall next to me. “You wanna talk.. Or..?” 

I take a deep breath. Contemplating every single life choice.

“Are you and her still together?” i ask, rubbing my hands on my thighs anxiously. He shakes his head, taking a drag. “I broke up with natasha four years ago.” i hum, so they stayed together a whole year after i left. I look up at the night sky, unsure of what to say next. 

“Im sorry for what i said to you.” 

Im almost immediately agitated. “You hurt me noah.” he rubs his face, handing me the joint. “You don’t think i don’t know that?! I watched you walk out that door knowing there was nothing i could do-” “there was SO much you could fucking do.” 

Its silent for a moment. 

“She threatened me that day.”

“What?” 

“Natasha. She slashed my tires.” 

Hes honestly.. Taken aback. 

“Sorry?” 

“She told me you’d never love me. That i was pitiful for thinking i had a chance.” i swallow, avoiding eye contact. 

“Bella-”

I take a drag. “I’m sorry noah.” 

“What for..?” he says, almost holding his breath. 

“I told you that i hoped you’d feel sick to your stomach when you hear my name.” i laugh bitterly. 

He nods. 

“Uhh… not exactly far from the truth.” 

We sit in comfortable silence, just smoking. 

“I broke up with her because she cheated on me. Shes a tattoo artist now, atleast thats what ive heard from nosey interviewers.” he says, effectively breaking the silence. 

I don’t say anything, staring at the ground. It starts to rain. 

“We weren’t supposed to end like this.” he speaks again.

“Atleast not in my dreams.” i laugh. 

“Chase two girls, lose the one.” noah says, looking down the alleyway. 

I look at him quizzically. 

“Wait. you liked me?” 

“Like.”

fuck this. I need to go, i need to get away from him. Fuck. fuck im going to fuck something up. I shouldn’t of done this. 

My heels click as i begin to run away again, wiping frantic tears. He reaches for my wrist, his fingers warm compared to the coldness of the night. pulling me back to him like a safety net. Almost immediately i wrap my arms around his waist, sobbing. 

“I don’t hate you” i wail, he sighs, stroking my hair. 

I shouldn’t be doing this. 

“I know bella.” he murmurs, tightening his grip on my waist. 

“I should.” i sniffle, looking up at his doe brown eyes. 

“You should. And it makes me the luckiest bastard in the world that you can’t manage to.” 

[i-hold-deaths-hand-in-mine]

today i am coining the phrase "freaky domesticity" with this scene from my agathario fic

(mature. 18+. it gets spicy.)

“Tonight’s the night,” Rio sang as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed sugar from the cupboard.

“Yeah,” muttered Agatha as she absent-mindedly stirred eggs in a pan, wearing only her robe, and then turned the heat down on the stove. She became fully aware of the moment, however, when she turned to reach for the fridge and nearly smacked her face into the opened cupboard door. 

Quickly, she peered inside – the sugar was already put back. 

She looked at Rio, contentedly sipping her coffee at the table, already having put the sugar in her cup. 

The sugar…was put…back. It was no longer needed.

“Rio?” Agatha called, voice strained from the forced, sickening sweetness. Rio looked up obliviously. “Do you still need the sugar for something?”

Rio furrowed her eyebrows. She looked down at her coffee, then up at Agatha, then over at the cabinet door – and then it clicked. “Oh, sorry,” she said as she began to stand. 

Agatha held her hand up, stopping her in her tracks half-way up from her seat. She didn’t sit back down. She felt afraid to move. “It’s fine,” Agatha sighed before slamming the door shut. 

“Agatha –” Rio started, standing up and moving towards her. 

But Agatha only held a single finger up this time. “No.”

Rio stopped, watched her with an agonizing look on her face that broke Agatha in a million different ways because she knew if she had just never said those dumb words – I’m not mad – they probably would have been well on their way to processing whatever they were both feeling at the moment. 

But she was Agatha. She ran away from her problems. 

She sighed. The kitchen was too enclosed of a space, and Rio was between her and the door – she easily could have caught Agatha before she made it out. Alas, running was not an option this time, though she absolutely would have if the opportunity arose. 

“I’m sorry,” Agatha said. “I guess…I’m a little mad.” Suddenly remembering the food, she hurried back to the stove to make sure they had not been burned. And then she noticed, that in her agitation, she accidentally turned the burner completely off, and they were still only half-cooked. 

She turned the burner back on with the groan and then faced Rio, who was now standing fully, though with great uncertainty. Agatha moved her head, gesturing her forward, and Rio slid her arms into the robe to wrap them around her, but first gave the eggs behind Agatha a quick stir.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Agatha asked. 

“I didn’t…I didn’t want to make it real,” Rio admitted.

Agatha’s breath hitched. Her chest became tight, and she suddenly felt so incredibly silly, and relieved, and distraught, and – there were so many, too many, things to focus on any more, and so she only grabbed onto Rio and held her tightly. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I really mean it this time.” 

True. 

After all, she reasoned, how could she have remained so angry at Rio after hearing the very same rationale she recently spoke to herself?

“Are you sure?” Rio asked, leaned back to look at her, to cup her face in her hands and read all that was written in her eyes. Because Agatha, despite some few moments, was always so, so easy for Rio to read. And because of that, Agatha did not answer her – did not need to. Rio saw. 

Instead, Agatha kissed her, capturing her lips in the only message that Rio ever wanted or needed. Rio pressed into her immediately, hips pushing Agatha back against the counter, and Agatha reached blindly behind her. 

Her hand grabbed onto the edge of the knife she had used earlier, and she hissed at the sharp sting, pulling her hand back to view the damage. A thin red line appeared, blood seeping to the surface. She went to grab a hand-towel, but Rio caught her wrist and held her hand up to her mouth. She licked the length of her wound, moaning.

Agatha gasped, watching with dark eyes, then pulled Rio roughly by the hair to close her mouth over hers, tasting herself on her. She pushed Rio back, not even registering the scent of burnt eggs, until she hit the table. The dishware rattled.

“Ag –” Rio groaned when she felt lips leave her own to suck harshly at her neck. Agatha lifted her hips so she was sitting on the table, legs wrapped around her. 

Agatha ground her hips into Rio, kissing her again as Rio moaned into her mouth. She reached to brace one hand against the table, the other bunched tight in Agatha’s hair, and accidentally knocked a few utensils noisily to the floor. 

“The dishes,” she gasped. She then whined when Agatha pulled back to look at her. 

“The dishes?” Agatha asked. She was half-amused and half-annoyed that anything other than her name was on Rio’s mind in that moment. 

To make her point, Agatha leaned over and swiped the plates and mugs to the floor, grinning wickedly at all the noise they made as they shattered. She was a cat in another life, it was confirmed. 

And then Agatha fixed that cat-like grin on her, and Rio knew she was fucked in more ways than the obvious.