#I game standing up sometimes and this was one of those times

[bmbidoll]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑

baekhyun x f!reader

synopsis: you never really let yourself get too close to the friend of your friends, baekhyun, while he got progressively tired of your vanishings everytime you two hooked up. it's only in a pivotal moment in his audi where you two lay your feelings bare. in more ways than one.

content: 6k words one shot with small angst plot, but mostly smut with both rough and fluff undertones ♡

author's notes: hiiiii!!! I'm so so so happy with the incredible response that savor (check it out if you haven't!) received that I've decided to share this one, too! please enjoy it for a while as I'll take some time to try and do something more elaborate with my next work with military!baekhyun

once again, my current and future works will always be created, centered, and catered to adults! so if you're a minor pleeeease don't interact. and to my dear readers, thank you for your tremendous support, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did envisioning it.

warnings: cursing, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, semi but almost public car sex (i'm not sorry), hair pulling, dirty talking, dry humping, fingering, oral sex f!receiving, cumplay, oral fixation, marking, p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie (get used to it), cock warming, overall pure filth! you have been warned!

every adventure with baekhyun was something sort of too good. ever since you became 'acquainted', those shared glances were undeniably wanton. everytime he saw you coming into your mutual friends' parties with your girls, he'd have to put his teeth on something, either his bottom lip or his finger just to not walk into you and take you right in the center of the room.

you had noticed his stares. one would have to be blind not to, since he didn't really keep it discreet. as if sending a message not just to you, but to everyone to assert some type of 'ownership'. you found it ridiculous just as much as you found it hot, because out of the bedroom, you didn’t really know him, always picking someone else to the dance floor knowing he'd see it.

you gave him some sort of a show, grabbing random dudes that would always end up stunned when you left them hanging, even if you were the one who initiated. it was light fun in your mind since you don't ever actually look towards hooking up with any of them.

everyone knew you'd mostly care for your girls, not having eyes for just any guys. of course, you knew how to have fun. you liked it that one time you made out with junmyeon when you met the group before baekhyun came into the picture. junmyeon wanted more, but you kept him at that, mild fun, even if sometimes you pictured letting loose with him or jongin.

you'd dance teasingly, not caring that much for your partner since you know they'd be hypnotized by the way you knew how to work your hips close against their crotch, barely touching it. that was enough to make baekhyun clench his jaw and stand up, leaving his drink behind and walking towards the exit, not giving you a second glance. that's how the game usually starts.

but he swore to himself he'd make it different tonight.

you turn to your dance partner with a sweet grin, interrupting their stunned attempts to get your number with your hand caressing their cheek. excusing yourself from the dance floor, you took your time to kiss your girls goodbye with knowing looks from them.

your steps are quiet against the fading music from inside the house as you walked into the porch, feeling the hot summer night. you were glad you chose a crop top and a skirt combo, as usual. you spotted a certain sillhoutte by the corner, smoking a cigarette as he leaned on the railing.

"you still smoke that shitty stuff?" you asked, not receiving any surprise from him since this type of conversation is normal between you two. when you actually talk, that is.

"you still entertain those shitty guys?" he retorted sharply, making you amused as you walked closer to him, standing on his side as your stare found his sharp profile.

baekhyun gave you the grace of his gaze, even though he was frowning with a certain scowl.

"I don't understand you." you muster with a seductive grin, analyzing how could he get so bothered with things that seemed so simple to you.

"you do. you just pretend you don't so you don't feel guilty of stringing me along." he murmured, dropping the cigarette and stepping on it.

"excuse me? stringing you along to what? exclusive sex?" you quipped, your grin fading quickly. if anything bothered you the most, was his audacity. byun baekhyun's audacity always made you want to give him a real reason to get mad.

he only chuckled, dryly. shaking his head as he turned away from you to walk across the street towards his audi, making you grumble with guilty conscience while you watched him.

you knew through your girlfriends that baekhyun had some sort of 'hard crush' on you. you always found it ridiculous because you'd never even gave him the grace of knowing anything from you from your own mouth, besides sex talk. you were sure everything he knew about your life was piece of info delivered through others like the things you knew about his.

that he was somewhat of a reformed player. that he now didn't mess with just any girl for the fun of it anymore.

you found it hard to believe, considering how he looked, how he talked, and how he danced. how he caught to you before you caught to him.

it started with make out sessions after drinks, then messing around in bathrooms, to spending the night on his penthouse. it scared you, not only for the fact that it happened a lot, but also that you could never refuse him. you wanted him too much.

but for different reasons.

"wait!" you said, trying to follow his large steps. he opened the driver door, but you quickly pushed it closed before he could enter, "fucking wait, goddammit!" you shouted earning a furious glare from how roughly you treated his car. not that you gave a damn.

"if you ever touch my car like that again I swear to god—" you interrupted him.

"I don't mean to string you along!" you snapped, "I just... I'm not good at that part." lowering your voice as your confidence dimmed.

you were never good with honesty, always telling that you're as good as fucked if you ever were the first to fall in every past fling you've had. and that applied to just any type of relationship, especially to yours where you were both... kind of strangers. strangers that loved each other's bodies too much.

"what part are we talking about? the part where you just tease me with some random fuckboy just to get angry sex, or the part where you disappear in the morning without ever giving me the grace of a fucking word?" baekhyun spoke calmly, but you knew he was anything but, narrowing his eyes at your progressively curved stance.

"the latter... the 'figuring out where do we go' part." you murmured, feeling immature under his sharp gaze.

"oh my god. what else do I have to do to get to your fucking head that this," he pointed towards the both of you, "is not just some mediocre hooking up thing? I've been trying to get to know you for almost a year! god, even your girls know how fucking in love I am with you." baekhyun ranted, making you feel slightly embarrassed for being so unable of handling this, handling him, with maturity.

it wasn't that you didn't like him... you just couldn't. couldn't fathom getting involved someone that seemed so perfect without even trying.

"get in." he said, simplistic, walking around the car to the passenger seat and opening the door.

"what?" you asked, confused.

"just get in before I change my mind and leave you alone, for good." his voice said, cold, but you could hear the tiredness. you certainly didn't not want to defy him now, knowing he's good with his word.

you cursed inwards and walked around the sports car with your head down, smiling awkward when he held the door to you as you entered, and got in the driver seat afterwards. his audi was more spacious than his porsche, which made you more comfortable as he drove into the night, both of you too tense to muster up words. your eyes stared pathetically at the car's tinted windows, seeing the droplets of summer rain start, fucking great.

your apartment complex was built in the past century, which meant any light wind could mess up your building's energy, much less with the rain, to which wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. baekhyun knew that, but you never actually invite him over.

you looked at him as he stared at you, seemingly knowing your thoughts. "I'm not taking you to my penthouse again." he said casually.

"baekhyun, please? I'm not even gonna do anything, I just don't wanna stay in the damn dark by myself. plus the air conditioner won't work, so it'll be a humid oven in there." you sighed, but he didn't seem very interested in your lame excuse.

both of you stood quietly as he stopped on a red light, checking his phone in disinterest before stepping on the pedal again, expertly driving through the streets. you'd find him to be a vision in other circumstances.

"I'm sorry."

baekhyun clenched his jaw at your words, but didn't say anything, so you continued. "fuck, baekhyun— i really am. it's just... I'm bad at... everything revolving people. I know it doesn't seem like it since I'm outgoing and 'extroverted', but when it comes to problems like this, I really have no idea about what the fuck I'm doing." you felt the car stop in the middle of the way to your home and his eyes turning to face you, but you continued, "the truth is that I didn't actually believe that I was hurting you. didn't but that you actually, honestly wanted something to do with me that wasn't just stress relieving sex... even though you never actually gave me a concrete reason to disregard your feelings. so I just cowered everytime there was an opportunity to face that, face you. I know none of that shit is your problem and you expected me to at least be honest and own up before it got to this point, but I failed at that. since that's all I've known in past relationships." you finished, ready to just leave the car and walk home on your own. fuck the rain, you just didn't want to face his coldness after all that.

your escape plan was fumbled as quick as it was formed, baekhyun locking the doors from the digital panel and grabbing your hand. he stared at you with conflict, but didn't have the same coldness and reservations from before your speech. he sighed and pushed one strand of your long hair behind your ear.

"why do you push me away, angel...?" baekhyun murmured with a voice sure to make you drop down your defensiveness, frowning as the answer was just as unclear to you as it was to him. you felt so small, and he hated it as much as you did.

"I guess I just..." you started, looking at him waringly only to find soft pupils focused on you so intensely that it made you look down again. "I tend to leave first because I never want to be the one left. I don't ever want to give anyone the ability to leave me again... so it doesn't have anything to do with something you've done or not." you looked at him again, baekhyun finally grasping understanding amidst his hurt from your actions, now sure they were consequences of protecting yourself.

"I had no idea, angel." he squeezed your hand, his thumb caressing it gently, his grasp pulling you into his arms for a soothing hug that you didn’t know you needed right now, the way his cool hand found your lower bare waist beneath your crop top made you shudder softly, resting your head against his spacious shoulder.

the way baekhyun looked at you when you leaned back made you gulp from the closeness. "now we can go to my penthouse, if you want to." he asked, protective of you, which made you nod softly, but when he turned away from you to grab the steering wheel, you impulsively grabbed his arm, making him stare at you in confusion.

"what is it? I figured we could also order something when we get there since there wasn't any food at the..." he trailed off as you stared at him with those eyes. "...party."

you slowly made your way over the panel, thankful he chose his audi today, since it gave you space to cross towards his seat. "what are you—" baekhyun started, but gasped as you straddled him, you legs feeling his jeans.

"angel, I won't do anything before I'm sure you're not leaving me afterwards." he spoke with his jaw clenched, strained, but serious.

"not even kiss me?" your voice murmured, close to him, watching him struggle to control himself.

it's not like you didn't want to take this seriously. not like you didn't mean any of your earlier words.

it was just hard not to want byun baekhyun when he looked into your pupils with such protective eyes. and even harder when he kissed you with such wanton lips. his hand went carefully behind your head as his mouth claimed yours gently in a way that made you pathethically weak, something that you felt was unfair. you pressed the button on the side of the driver seat that made it slowly descend, giving you more space to grind your hips against his, making him growl, parting the kiss with a rough tug on your hair.

"take this seriously if you don't want me to fuck you like you're worthless in the backseat." he hissed in a whisper, making you grin at the delicious tingles his proposition gave you.

but as much as you liked it when he was angry, you didn't want to make him mad anymore. not tonight.

your hand found his cheek, caressing him gently. "if I didn't take you seriously, I wouldn't tell you those things. I may be a coward, but not a liar." that made him release your hair and caress your scalp, "besides... is it truly wrong to want you this much...? to want to be yours right here in the center of the street?" you murmured, resuming your soft moves in his crotch, making him throw his head back in a curse, clearly unable to totally deny you

"you're lucky I'm in love with you." baekhyun grunted, meeting your center with his, the friction of his jeans and your pleated skirt making your breaths shorten. "I know," you purred with a wide smile, "but did I ever make you not love fucking me?"

that made his hands find your rear roughly, squeezing it in a way that made you whimper.

"you fucking minx..." he pulled your hips to his forcefully, making you grin lazily. "making me taint another one of my cars..." you gasped as one of his hands quickly found your heat under your skirt, rubbing up and down as you seeped through it while he spoke. "look at you. you're so damn shameless." he murmured on your ear as you curved from his touch, your hands finding his shoulders as an anchor when he tugged your panties aside and slowly inserted his middle finger, making you curse.

"could you go any slower?" you grunted with frustated sarcasm, but regretted instantly when you saw his annoyingly handsome, deviant grin, feeling his curling digit take his time as he hovered his thumb on your increasingly swollen clit.

"you know, darling? I actually wanted to wait a bit. I was hoping..." baekhyun trailed off, watching his finger pumping in and out of your wetness. "we could have just went to my house and... talked, actually met each other like..." he added his ring finger, making your brows raise in a gasp, "normal people who can actually hold a conversation."

you were practically getting yourself off on his fingers, throwing your head back in uncomposed breaths, before whining when he pulled them out of you.

"but you just had to act like your needy self, hadn't you? firstly... you entered the party with this..." he raked your skimpy outfit, his other hand kneading your ass, "pathetic plea for my attention. now you're in my car, acting like you need me as much as you need air. the rain already stopped, and you're not even ashamed of your weak excuse to get into my bed."

you only smiled recklessly, grinding on him as a counter attack, stealing him a curse. "you're talking like you're so much better, hm? even if I wore something casual in this hot summer night you'd be drooling over my ass, which if I'm not mistaken, you have. the entire night." you caught his eyes on your exposed midriff so you leaned closer, contracting your abdomen in anticipation of his touch on your waist, "I bet even if it wasn't raining, you'd take any reason I gave you just to bring me over and..." you trailed off, biting your lower lip as your stared at him, playful.

you knew those eyes of his, and what you didn't know from spoken words, you recognized from his deep stare, that unlike other guys you met, gazed you with devotion. in less than a second, your lips crash desperately, his hand that was carefully caressing your hips now rushed under your skirt to bruise your pale skin. the way his blunt nails grazed your skin in urgency made you part your lips to moan on his kiss, to which he took advantage and pushed his tongue inside, making you rake up his hair, messing the stylish curls. you honestly thought it looked better that way, especially when you tugged them to make him moan a sound that, in all honesty, made you wetter. a selfish part of you wanted to be the only one to hear it, regardless of the implications. to drink on the deliciousness of his pleasured stares, ever switching from confident playfulness to longing pleas.

your bite on his lip made him puff and thrust upwards in delicious friction of your dry humping, something that you two usually spent long minutes doing. he stopped your attempts of undoing his belt to murmur in your ear. "go to the backseat, let me eat you out." and if you weren't so turned on, you'd laugh at his addiction to your taste.

you only smiled softly, slowly crawling your way to the backseat in a exaggerated raise of your ass that exposed your damp, black lace under your pleated skirt. you eventually sat there with a full blown smile when you turned to face him, his fucked out expression focusing on the way you grabbed the headrest, pulling down your panties with one hand and throwing them carelessly to the front of the car, something that'd normally make him mad. not this time, though. no. in fact, he caught them and stored on his pocket, making you roll your eyes.

"you really know how to act like a teenager when you want too, hm? baekhyunie?" you teased, sliding sideways as he made him way beside you, already separating your thighs and pushing your skirt up on your waist.

"does a teenager know how to eat you out like I do, angel?" baekhyun asked, looking up with a growing grin. and before you could even retort, you had to grab his hair with a curse at the slow lap of his velvet tongue between your folds. he'd start slow with circling movements on your clit before pushing inside in a curling manner that made you moan. the way he made out with your pussy was something you were obsessed with, the intricate manner he took turns with nibbling and sucking made your thighs quiver, and you were sure he loved when you suffocated him between them, rubbing his nose to slobber on your taste in a filthy manner.

your mind was so high that you almost didn't notice the sound of the car window going down behind you, your eyes widened as you saw his hand pressing the button with purpose, his own watched your gasping reaction in determined lust.

"what the fuck! baekhyun, someone's gonna—!" your hand that tried to press the button over his own was caught in a tight grip, your plea interrupted from the absolute need to let out a gasp from the added fingers of his right hand that were paired with his tongue.

"let people hear how pretty you sound when it's me who's eating you out. fuck it, let them see it." the way his voice sounded low and raspy triggered goosebumps from within your cunt, and you were thankful no one was around at this hour. your head was thrown back another time when he started a rapid, skillful assault that would surely make you come within seconds. the thrill of it all was raising your senses even higher, your gasps echoing recklessly into the night with the promise of someone hearing it made you want to scream in ecstasy, the orgasm shattering your reality for a moment. you swore the strength of your grip on his hair hurt baekhyun, but you weren't bothered to let it go when he was determined on drinking your every remnant, only stopping with a push from your hand.

he exhaled with a grunt, panting as he desperately unbuckled his belt and tugged everything off in one go. "turn around." he stated, helping you when your moves were consequently sluggish.

you could already feel his chest on your back when he steadied his cock on your entrance, his lips kissing your neck as he caressed your curves, your hands clutching the — still open – window.

"do you want this? right here?" baekhyun said on your ear, unconsciously making you rub yourself onto him.

it could be considered embarrassing how your mind didn't give a fuck for the spot you were put. how your only desire was to be his in every place you could get, since you knew he'd care for your comfort and needs perfectly.

"yes." was the single word you muttered before slowly moaning from the way he stretched you from behind. you could even smile from how you felt him throb inside of you, elated from the way he cursed on your ear.

the small sting from the already quick pace he settled did nothing to snuff out your lust, only raising it to the max as the both of you moaned on the open car window.

"fuck— I love how your pussy throbs around my cock after you come...!" baekhyun strained his voice behind you, snapping his hips ferociously onto you in a way that made your eyes roll from how deep he hit.

you couldn't even properly speak, only taking what he gave you with grateful noises. when his fingers found your lips and his hand gripped your chin, you instantly opened your mouth to receive his digits lewdly, humming at the way he sucked onto your pulse point.

"such a fucking good girl, right, angel...?" he hissed, thrusting viciously. "do you like this? me fucking your pussy on open air? hm?"

you could barely stop your choked moans as he removed his fingers from your mouth to hear your answer. when he didn't, his open hand hit your ass in a harsh hit, making you yelp loudly.

"y-yes! fuck yes!" you shouted, shaken, whimpering as he caressed the sting he caused amidst his thrusts. baekhyun only chuckled breathlessly, enjoying how you clenched everytime he spanked you. "just look at how good you take me... it's like you're swallowing me whole. such a perfect pussy." he kept changing it from slow to rapid moves, almost making your eyes well up with your inability to respond.

"god— I think I really fucking love you...!" he grunted, raising his pace as he smacked your flesh again. "gonna show you how much I love you by cumming inside, hm?"

you could barely nod, his fingers pressing down your tongue again before baekhyun rammed into you one final time, filling you up with a groan. he kissed your neck amidst love bites and pulled you onto his lap further in the backseat as he closed the window. his hand lovingly went up under your top, caressing your chest through your bra as he muttered multiple praises and turned you to face him, asking if you were okay with everything and if he didn't hurt you in any way. it was so good you almost thought you were already his, even without the two of you putting it into words.

he cleaned you with tissues from the car's glove box before both of you climbed back onto the front seats in a comfortable silence as he drove you to his penthouse confidently. he held your hand even though you said you were fine, walking you to the elevator before you were finally on his couch, facing each other with a water glass on your hand. you gulped silently before setting the glass on his coffee table, hugging yourself as you prepared yourself for the inevitable talk you been delaying for months.

"how are you?" baekhyun's voice muttered as his eyes watched you curled on the edge of the couch, your stockinged feet on it, yet his question made you raise your brows in confusion. that was certainly not the first question you expected.

"I mean— how are you feeling? right now?" he rephrased, making you look down in thought.

"I... feel okay, I suppose." you murmured, unsure.

"do you wanna talk about us...?" baekhyun spoke softly, his hand finding your knee in an attempt to coax a proper response, something that made you feel guilty.

you stayed silent, contemplating everything before you slowly pulled your knee closer to your chest.

"I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to face such thoughts right now." you sighed, closing your eyes while you pushed your face between your knees, frustrated by your inability to express your worries properly.

you heard him standing up from the couch to hover over your figure, pushing your hair back gently without a word. that made you look up with a worried look, but it soon softened as you saw his face, the intentions of making you comfortable clear within his expression.

"you're really serious about this, aren't you?" you spoke, shy as you sat properly to let him sit close to you. "about me and you... getting to know each other?"

"I'm serious about it because I wanna be serious about what I feel for you. for what I want to feel as I get to know you, if you'll let me..." baekhyun hummed, laying his head on your shoulder, which made you grin softly.

"and what would it imply?" you spoke softly, turning your face to his lowered one, watching his lashes flutter as he looked at before starting to visualize.

"oh, you know, the usual. dates, adventures.... lots of cuddles, plenty of kisses..." he paused, grinning at you as you rolled your eyes with a soft smile.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

"if being ridiculous makes you smile like that, then I'll take it." he said, making you groan and throw your head onto the cushion in a cringed expression. you heard him laugh, and unconsciously smiled when you faced him again, settling on a comfortable shared gaze.

baekhyun leaned closer, softening his expression as he spoke again "but more than that... supporting each other, trusting each other," you felt him lower his tone as he reached your lips, "being there for each other, through the good times and the bad."

"yeah...?" you whispered at him as you stared at his handsome face.

"yeah." he whispered back.

something about his tone and look made you kiss him, unhurried. it felt even better since he promptly responded by bringing you onto his lap to make out with patience.

"you're crazy" you said between pecks, inhaling his soft, woody, warm fragrance that brought you just as much comfort as it brought you desire.

"you're more." his said, breathy, sending newfound tingles in your lower stomach, and you remembered he still didn't give you back your panties, meaning you'd soon seep onto him if you kept this up.

so you figured, why not make it difficult for him?

you slowly inserted your tongue on his mouth, feeling his own eagerly swirling against yours in a lazy kiss, gently sucking onto him. that, paired with a couple of nibbles on his lower lip got him groaning, so you innocently moved your hand lower between your bodies and introduced your index within your walls, making you gasp. baekhyun only furrowed his brows, confused, but soon widened his eyes when you raised your hand between your faces, exposing the glistening of your juices coating your finger, before you licked the digit clean.

such action made him clench his jaw, exhaling through his nose as he stared at you sucking onto it.

"you wanna know what you'd get in a relationship with me, darling?" baekhyun spoke in a unnervingly calm low voice while his eyes were fixed on yours.

but before you could ask, he lifted you off the couch into his arms with ease, making you yelp as he walked with you further into the apartment, before reaching his master bedroom and tossing you on the bed. you yelped as your back reached his mattress, focusing your eyes on the one who stood before you, taking off his clothes in a hurried manner.

"you get all of me. every part. anytime you want." he stated as he got his shirt off in a manner you could only watch in a surprised awe.

"you get my mind," baekhyun unbucked his belt again, "you get my heart," his jeans and briefs dropped to the ground as he crawled onto the bed, on top of you. "and you get my body. all for you." he finished, pressing the tip of his already leaking cock against your folds. his tongue tracing the shell of your ear.

you cursed, shutting your eyes in overwhelm, just to hear him speak again. "and I get all of you. every part, every sound, every breath. all mine."

you opened them up only to find his face, completely whipped in anticipation for your response. both your breaths were shaken, your hand found his cheek with gentle caressing before your made your decision.

a relationship with baekhyun sounded far fetched from the start, you could already see that. but maybe a part of you longed to get to know him on the day after this. on the morning after, where your bodies are so spent you don't want to move away from each other. and maybe...

maybe you could turn this into something you won't be scared to face in the future.

looking at his eyes, you could see that beyond all the lustful desire, he only does this because that's the only thing you ever allowed him to do. so you breathed in, leaned your face closer to his in a way that lovingly made your noses touch, watching him close his eyes for a second.

"okay." you murmured.

it was another shockwave to feel him enter your walls again, and baekhyun took his time, gently pushing every inch in a painfully slow manner.

"you're still so damn tight, doll." he strained, hissing when he finally settled within in a torturous pace.

"s-so what, hm?" you stuttered, still adjusting to his thickness, making him chuckle at your attitude.

"so I think about it everytime I'm not thinking about dating you." baekhyun hummed, deliberately patient with his thrusts as he watched your facial expressions. "I love picturing us together for real, even when all I've seen is you like this... like..." he trailed off, closing his eyes to keep composure.

"like...?" you coaxed, meeting his hips halfway in a lazy manner.

"like a goddess." he murmured lowly, his dark eyes completely fixated on the way your face reacted to pleasure.

you only pushed your hand to his chest to stop his shallow thrusts and sat back with unhurried movements. you stared at him with intent to make sure he knew what you felt in the moment, finally taking off your skirt and crop top, then sprawling yourself on his bed, naked under his eyes for the first time tonight.

"then why don't you love me like one...?" your voice murmured in honest desire, your legs high as you exposed your center to him, bewitching baekhyun.

the suddenness of his next thrust caught both of you off guard, with a deep moan being ripped from his throat as he was, once again, completely enveloped by you. your legs wrapped around his waist as his body shuddered uncontrollably, the intensity of the sensation as big as ever.

"you little minx..." baekhyun grunted as he steadied his breath, pounding you against his bed in a way that made you cry out numerous curses, fighting for composure.

"I love that I can make you speechless." he whispered, rolling his hips repeatedly. and if you thought it was hard to keep your head clear amidst everything, it was ever harder for him. feeling your grip around him in a continuous pulse.

"not my fault your cock fits so perfectly." you choked, making him grin in a surge of satisfaction.

"and it's all yours." he murmured, his teeth finding your pulse point once again as he slowed his thrusts in a manner that accentuated the depth of his movements. "do you like it like this, doll? can you feel me like this, hm?"

you'd swear you'll kill him for this, for teasing you like this, but the only thing you could ever do right now is respond in a way that could appease both of your fires. even if it sounded pathetic. "th—there... right there...!"

baekhyun smiled against your neck, his body responding to your words.

"here...?" he asked, repeating the motion, his hips circling against yours in a deep, deliberate motion, his body rubbing against yours in all the right places.

when he picked up the pace again, your hands went behind you in an attempt to achor yourself, trying to grab his headboard, but failing. baekhyun noticed and hummed, leaning back to watch your face with a small sheen against his temples, "hold onto me," his voice rough and ragged while his body continued in a fast, hard movement. "hold onto me, angel. I got you..."

even in your light minded state, you still replied, worried, "I'll scratch you..." with a breathy voice amidst pants.

"I don't care. scratch me, bite me. do whatever you need, but hold onto me." he rumbled roughly.

at a certain rough thrust, you cried out, digging your long nails on his broad back in a way that surely marked him. baekhyun hissed, the counterpoint of the pain making him go delirious as he kept whispering praises on your ear.

"I can't— can't take it much longer...!" you whimpered, feeling your tight coil extremely close to snap for the third time that night. he wasn't very far, either.

"I can feel it, angel. let—" he moaned, "let it go for me, I'm right there with you."

baekhyun grabbed you thighs securely, looking up at your face as you asked "together...?", making him nod his head.

"together," he panted, "let yourself go and come with me. I got you."

with guttural sounds from him, you silently screamed while tugging his hair and back, feeling both of your releases hit intensely. baekhyun cursed loudly, drawing out both your orgasms as he filled you up again, shaking with aftershocks on top of you.

there was a moment of mutual comfort in the silence that follow, both of you uncaring for how long you actually spent with him inside of you, since he settled beside your body, holding you close.

"you know I'll do anything..." baekhyun hummed in your hair, nuzzling your neck as you stared at the ceiling, finding his face in a soft, confused hum.

he knew it could sound repetitive to you, but he just had to say it again. and a part of you likes it. a lot.

"for you to be mine." the way he spoke your name afterwards felt good, sending shivers from inside of your body.

he raised his head to look at you, locking your gazes in a silent understanding with serious, but pleading eyes.

"say yes." he told you, fixed on the way you raked his sculpted face. the way his moles adorned his features.

"you'll never let this go, hm?" you grinned, looking down in more comfort than you'd expect.

"no." baekhyun said, with a clear tone that made you look back at him with shy eyes as he continued.

"I'm never letting you go."

[blackgirlsloveburrow]

NSFW 18+

this is kind of a part two to my joe burrow x uc student!reader fic. you can read it here:

joe and you have been secretly hanging out for a good few months now, and no one has caught on. after that crazy night, you did call him, and he was very adamant about seeing you all of the time.

“joe i can’t come to your house i have homework to do. philosophy is kicking my butt right now,” you sighed.

“baby you can just do it here, i’ll pick you up myself,” he begged.

you laughed. “there’s no way you are bringing that expensive ass car around this run down neighborhood. also you know you’re gonna try to distract me from doing homework the whole time i’m there,” you replied.

“okay you win. but i wanna see you tonight for sure,” he said trying to compromise.

“i was gonna pick up a shift at work later. im trying to save up to buy some new headphones”.

“fuck work. i’ll literally buy you anything you want,” he said aggravated.

“ugh joe you know how i feel about th-“

he cut you off. “i’m picking you up now, and don’t worry i’ll bring one of my more inconspicuous cars. i’ll see you in a bit!”.

he hung up. you flopped in your pillow and groaned. your life has totally changed with him in it. you’re both grateful, but slightly peeved about his generosity towards you. i mean you’re not a person who is used to being spoiled by others. he’s always buying you nice things way out of the price range for a college student.

how do you explain to your friends you have multiple telfar tote bags all of a sudden? lululemon sets? etcetera.

you’re also basically always at his house. his cook makes meals for you, his driver takes you to class, things you would have never imagined for yourself.

let’s not get started on the college life of it all. he doesn’t like you going to frats because he hates all college guys (you can’t say you blame him), every time you mention going to a uc football game he’ll buy you guys box seats to go, and your friends are practically begging you to show your “sneaky link”. it’s very exhausting sometimes.

you definitely are in love with him though.

he’s so sweet and protective of you. he makes sures you’re always eating and not stressing about school. he’s even introduced you to his family and teammates after his games which makes you think maybe you could call him your boyf-

there’s a knock on the door.

you go answer it. it’s joe. all in his 6’4 glory.

“hey,” he smiles. bending down to kiss you.

“hi,” you blush.

“are you ready to go?” he asks.

“yeah let me just pack my book bag and some clothes”.

“you have clothes at the house,” he reminds you.

“oh well i get nervous wearing those. they’re just so nice i don’t want to stand out too much,” you laugh awkwardly.

“well you gotta get used to standing out if you’re with me,” he replied.

“well no one really knows about us,” you say walking to your room. he shuts the front door and follows you.

“well. i want more people to know because…,” he trails off.

“because?” you echo him.

“because i want you to officially be my girlfriend”.

you started at him silently.

“i was going to take you to dinner and properly ask but i couldn’t wait,” he said rubbing the back of his head.

in response you stand on the tips of your toes, wrap you arms around his neck, and pull him into a deep and passionate kiss. he reciprocates it, putting his hands on your sides.

when you guys finished, you responded.

“yes. i’ll be your girlfriend,” you say smiling widely.

he picks you up and spins you around, smiling too.

"alright get your stuff together and change so i can go feed you,” he says.

fast forward a little later in the night, you guys are at a really nice restaurant. you just finished your food and had a couple of drinks, and decided to sit on the same side of the booth as joe. he has his hand on your thigh feeling the material of your dress. you’re kissing his jaw and face.

“let’s go to the car baby,” he says. both amused by your affection and a little hard. he gets the check and leads you to the parking garage.

he pushes you up against his car and starts making out with you. his hands gripping your hips as he rubs his bulge against you.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes.

before you guys can go any farther he opens the car door for you. you get in and he gets in on his side. he speeds home, breaking a few traffic laws on the way.

you guys make it to the bedroom. he takes off your dress and undergarments. you take off his dress shirt and slide off his underwear and pants.

he’s standing and you get down on your knees in front of him.

you start jerking him off while sucking his tip. he throws his head back in pleasure.

“fuck you suck daddy’s dick so well baby,” he moans. he puts his hand on the back of your head and you start to go deeper, feeling him in the back of your throat.

he pulls you off of him after a while, looking at your watery eyes and saliva around your mouth. he makes you stand up. his hands go down to mess with your aching pussy.

“you’re sopping wet and i haven’t even done anything yet,” he says. you whine, embarrassed.

he continues. “daddy’s gonna fuck you so good baby”.

he backs you into the wall and picks you up by your thighs. you can feel his breath on your face as he lines his tip with your pussy. he pulls your body down on him in one swift motion. he instantly bottoms out in you. you moan loudly.

he starts picking up the pace. basically pulling your body down onto his girth. he’s so big.

then, with your legs around him, he carries your body and puts your back onto the bed, barely having a second before he starts thrusting into you again.

he’s hitting your g-spot so aggressively you start getting ready to unfold. the bed is shaking.

“i-i’m gonna cum. i’m gonna cum joey” you moan.

he starts to go faster, chasing his own high. you come undone, and he starts to get close too.

“i’m gonna cum in you baby fuck,” he grabs your throat and kisses your mouth as pumps his load deep inside of you.

as soon as you guys calm down he pulls out of you. you’re tired afterwards. he gets you one of his shirts to throw on and you guys cuddle in bed. he turns on the tv only to be met with a picture on the news of you guys kissing in the parking garage.

people sure are quick.

you guys just look at eachother and sigh. he kisses your forehead. you guys will just have to figure it out tomorrow.

[lemony-snickers]

Hiya Lem! Sorry if I’m too late~but hows about 17 and Kakashi for the Spotify wrapped fic game! Or if ya got too many Kashi’s, maybe Yugao! ~or anyone you feel fits the song best~ ❤︎₊ ⊹ 

17. fire - louis the child ft. evalyn.

only one late here is me. <3 also, never too many kakashis i did both! sort of! .

lookin' up, starlight; take me there, i wanna fly

Kakashi’s back is hard against Yugao’s as they face the closing circle of enemies, his voice a barely discernable growl as he barks orders from behind his broken mask.  They are in the shit, and Yugao for the first time since taking her ANBU oath wonders if this may be the mission that prevents her from ever returning home.

She looks up, the pinpoints of stars dancing in her blurred vision overhead.  She doesn’t have time to contemplate the concussion, though, because Kakashi springs forward and she must do the same if she wants to survive, to protect her teammates.

The battle is protracted and bloody.  By the time Team Ro limps away, they are all battered and bruised.  Ko’s ankle is broken and he leans against Tenzo who used some of the last of his strength to create a wooden crutch to help distribute the weight.

Yugao looks ahead.  Their team leader is tense, Hound’s shoulders lifted almost to his ears.  Kakashi’s silver hair is stained red and brown – new and old blood mixing with the shimmering strands, matting it to his scalp in places.  She wonders how much is his, how much belongs to those he slayed, if any of it came from her own wounds.

In addition to an obvious head injury, she herself has sustained several lacerations and fears she may be bleeding internally, if the sickly grey bruise spreading over her abdomen is any indication.  She won’t be able to see a skilled enough medic until they are back in Konoha, and so she grits her teeth against the pain and follows her Captain.  When her eyes flutter closed a few short hours later, voices screaming her call sign, the faint beginning of panic bleeding into the edges of the syllables, the last thing she sees is the face of Hound blotting out the stars.

Yugao stares at Kakashi’s panicked half-face through his broken mask and tries to tell him it’s not his fault.  She always knew her life in the corps would end this way.

but i’m miles off the ground; i’m leavin’ this whole match city to burn

The hospital lights are blinding, the itchy blankets too cloying and hot when she wakes.  Yugao throws them away, but when she tries to stand, she wavers, suddenly dizzy; vision blurring in defiance of the too-bright lights.  Adrenaline, insistent and overwhelming, courses through her quicker than common sense.

A firm hand grasps one arm, holds her steady.  Her hearing is fuzzy at first, but then it clears like she’s coming up from underwater.  “Stand down, Uzuki-san.”

Her eyes slide over to find Kakashi, wearing Konoha’s standard jonin uniform.  It feels wrong to see him in the blue fatigues and flak vest.  She can’t even remember the last time she’s seen anyone on her team out of their ANBU uniform.  Sometimes it feels like they live more of their lives as their masked counterparts than as themselves.

Even though most of his face is covered, it still feels like an intrusion to see his right eye peaking out from over his mask.  She’s used to Hound, not Kakashi Hatake.

She tries to shrug out of his grip, but Kakashi’s fingers only dig in harder, forcing her down until she’s sitting on the bed again.  She curses, feeling the beginnings of another bruise.  When he releases her, Yugao massages the place where his hand had been.

“I don’t think the medics would take kindly to you injuring a patient.”

“If that patient would stay in bed resting, I wouldn’t have to.”

Yugao scoffs lightly, but knows better than to challenge him further.  Stories of Kakashi’s escapes from this very place are legendary and many.  She has personally witnessed him scrambling from the window of a higher floor room, the voice of the Head Medic screaming its way into Konoha in his wake as Kakash rips an IV line from between his fingers.

She heard they started putting the lines in his feet so it would be more difficult for him to pull them out without drawing attention from the guard in his room.

Still, she supposes she is in no position to question her commander—standard uniform or no.  Kakashi walks to the window and pushes it open.

“I expect you to report back as soon as you’re discharged,” is all he says before he disappears.

Yugao smirks.  She knows he wouldn’t be here unless he cared about her well-being, despite his best efforts to conceal any concern.  But every member of Team Ro has seen their Captain’s selflessness, the blows he takes so they won’t have to.  He can’t hide his true nature from any of them, no matter how hard he tries.

long nights, it’s a lifestyle; so good to the last drop

Yugao wonders if there is some innate biology that prepares someone to be a great leader.  Kakashi must have it, if so.  She is in awe, watching him bark out orders not only to their squadron but countless others in the gathered crowd.  Everyone listens.  Everyone.

There is not a single person within hearing distance who does not sense he is the best person to direct the recovery efforts.  Even if it’s outside the scope of Team Ro’s mission.  Even if he is a foreign shinobi – none of that matters.

He oozes confidence; competence.  His voice is clear, steady, and sharp; it makes people believe in him.  It is why Yugao has always found it so easy to follow him into battle, even when the odds are precariously stacked in the enemy’s favor.  Her chest flares with warmth for her Captain, for her luck in being assigned to his team.

By the time the dust clears, she knows the number of survivors would be more than half what it is had Kakashi not been here to direct the rescue teams.

She watches as he wanders off by himself, settles against a cold rock to open a rations pack and eat in solitude.  She doesn’t approach him; knows how important the decompression space is after an emotionally tumultuous effort.  She and Tenzo find themselves a place to sit together and do the same, talking quietly about the mission; everything that went wrong and how eager they are to return to Konoha.  To take a hot bath and sleep in their own beds, no matter how uncomfortable their old mattresses are.

When she sneaks a glance back over at Kakashi, she sees he’s sitting with his head tilted back against the stone behind him.  From the steady rise and fall of his chest, she thinks he might finally be catching a few precious moments of sleep.

Good, she thinks.  He rarely truly rests during their team assignments, and she can see the toll it takes, even without seeing his face.

“Something I can help you with, Leopard?”

Yugao stiffens, not expecting his voice.

“No, sir,” she says, clearing her throat, “Just wondering what our next orders are.”  She ignores Tenzo’s teasing glance, the soft huff of his breath as he allows a half-chuckle escape his mouth.

She’ll get him back for that later—as if he wasn’t staring at Kakashi, too.  Though, she thinks, Tenzo’s reasons are very different from her own.

“We’ll move out in ten,” Kakashi says, standing, “so best finish your rations.”

Yugao nods quickly, stuffing the rest of the bar in her mouth before chasing it with a gulp of water from a canteen offered by Tenzo.  She watches Kakashi’s back the entire way to Konoha, as she so often does, still wondering how he had known she was watching.  Another enigmatic piece of her Captain’s puzzle—one she will likely never slot into place.  No matter how many missions she runs with him, she does not think she’ll ever find enough pieces to construct a clear picture.

i'll watch it go down; ‘cause that sun gonna take me with it

Yugao can’t move.  She feels as if she’s been buried beneath a ton of rocks, each one heavier than the last.  Her face itches, eyes tearing no matter how hard she tries to stave off the sadness.  The skin around them is red and raw, her lips chapped.

Hayate is gone.  And she cannot bear it.  Doesn’t want to.

Without him, she sees little reason to move.  To eat or breathe or live.

Weak, her mind whispers, you are so weak.

There have been countless knocks at her apartment door, calls from friends and comrades asking to be let inside.  They have food, they have flowers, they are checking on her.

Yugao doesn’t care.  She wants nothing to do with any of it.

When she hears her bedroom window slide open, Yugao thinks maybe the enemy who killed Hayate has come for her, too.  She closes her eyes, grateful for the opportunity to join him in the afterlife, for an end to this awful suffering.

“Get up.”

Her eyes snap open and there is Kakashi Hatake, staring down at her with one cool grey eye.

Her lip trembles, embarrassment lighting her nerves.  She covers her face with her arms, an awful sob barreling from her mouth before she has the sense to stop it, to shove it down the way a good soldier should be able to.

Not him.  Not her Captain.  It doesn’t matter that Hound has not led Team Ro for years, Yugao still looks up to him.  Still marvels at the grace with which he can adapt to any weapon, the efficacy with which he can devise a battle plan in any scenario.

Even the way he has taken three unruly genin under his wing, though rumor has it he is perhaps not as adept at leading children as he was Black Ops operatives.

Yugao’s crying seems to never end, ceaseless rivers of tears streaming from her eyes, lungs jolting until she hiccups pathetically.

She hears Kakashi sigh and assumes he will leave, that she is too pathetic and weak for him to help her.

Instead, she feels the mattress dip when he sits down a few minutes later, allows him to pry her arms away from her face as he lays a cool, damp towel over her eyes and forehead.

It feels nice, and her hiccups lessen and then eventually quiet, though a few errant tears continue to leak from the corners of her eyes no matter how hard she tries to staunch the flow.

“It never goes away,” Kakashi says quietly.

Yugao peels the washcloth off and looks at him, but his gaze is trained elsewhere, far across the room.  Across time, she thinks, looking at something she will never see.

“You will carry him with you for the rest of your life, and it will be a burden.”

She tries to protest—Hayate could never be a burden to her—but Kakashi holds up his hand, fingers twisted into the mission signal for silence, and she is still good, she finds, at following orders.

When Kakashi turns to look at her, Yugao gasps.  Because the fabric beneath his sharingan is damp with tears.  His other eye bores into hers, intense and clear.  “It will also be the greatest honor to keep him in your memory, and that is why you will get out of this bed and continue on.”

It doesn’t happen right away.  Not that afternoon, or the next.  But Kakashi keeps visiting, keeps prying her window open and handing her bowls of broth and eventually, Yugao pulls herself out from beneath her blankets and she returns to the world; heart heavier, but her purpose clearer than it has ever been.

i'm building a fire, fire, oh; i'm buildin’ it higher, higher, oh

This is something she can do.  A way to avenge Hayate, to protect her home.  To carry him with her and use the grief to make something better.

Cutting down Sound shinobi as they rampage through the streets of Konoha has suddenly become Yugao’s favorite thing in the world.  She pours all the anger and love she ever felt for Hayate into each swing, as if every enemy she sees is the one who made that killing stroke.  She is grateful for all he taught her, the strength she has now because of him.

She throws herself in front of a civilian, holds her armored forearm up to stop an enemy nin’s axe in its bid for flesh.  The armor bends, cracking beneath the force, the edge of the blade biting into her skin.

Yugao only smirks.  No wound can hurt as much as the one in her chest, the vacancy where Hayate should still be and isn’t.

Behind her mask, she grins.  And when her enemy falls to her feet, throat opened like a smile, Yugao wonders if her Captain would be proud of the soldier she has become.

If Kakashi knows how much she learned from him.

Whether Hayate is watching her from somewhere far away, complaining under his breath about her sloppy footwork as she sidesteps one attack and parries another.

She hopes so.

There will be time for such questions later.  For now, she has more important things to attend to.  Because, though she knows she may one day find herself in a battle she cannot win, she also knows that today, battling for her village in its heart—her teammates scattered around her doing the same—is not a fight she will allows herself to lose.

and if i go down in flames; the smoke gonna spell my name

[pyreo]

☝️☝️☝️

I feel like you can't really even compare Natlan to the prev two regions because they've completely changed tactic. For me Sumeru and Fontaine's strengths outweighed their weaknesses bc they were fundamentally stories about people doing things wrong. The wrongness of Nahida's imprisonment, the dismissal of curiosity in favour of ChatGPT, Scaramouche's entire thing. Furina being asked to give herself up as a person for her people. The entire justice and incarceration system being downright ridiculous. Those things grabbed you because they were human problems and humans needing change.

Natlan flipped that into 'oh no, war' and just had the abyss become the entire force of antagonism in the chapter. None of the characters had any downsides. They're all nice and available and on your side, with no personal distance like how Nahida was kept away from you, or Cyno and Alhaitham kept slapfighting or Furina was too famous to approach or Wriothesley had his own domain that he could threaten to keep you trapped in.

I cannot understand why people who demonstrated decent mastery of narrative coherence just up and abandoned it, but my pessimistic side thinks they internally changed tactic from a story driven game to just a 'good job hero' simulator where women with their tits out tell you you were a good boy (and nobody plays as lumine obviously). Mavuika is like... okay? But she has nothing going really other than whooaaa determination whooa

I mean when her character's vindication is to cheat her prophecied death and be allowed to live 'for herself' after essentially cutting her 'real' life short so she could see through her plan... shouldn't we have some idea what she wants to do with her life now its her own? Shouldn't she have some 'if only I could have lived long enough to ___' to drive it home? She doesn't die and then just kinda looks around like 'huh. um. okay'. Genshin also always has huge problems trying to stretch out its second act to fill time and this was one of the worst. The characters can't have issues or problems, so we just fuck around with chasca and citlali for a million years until the devs nod and go 'yeah that's long enough, they should all want to gamble for them now'.

The only characters who had something approaching a growth problem were kachina and ororon, kachina's being a simple 'I'm not good enough' (joins war and immediately dies) and ororon's... actually he's fine with himself, but everyone else is awkward about him because they tried to make him a human sacrifice as a baby and it didn't take but he's fine with it or something?? But it's not expanded on?

Anyway I loved how you put this

I wish there was more fanfare or resistance over her not being the one to sacrifice herself in the end omg. She just gets talked down a bit by Citlali & Traveler & then just kinda stands there like “oh…ok :(“ when Capitano shows up with a power point presentation about why this should be His self sacrifice moment now

like... YEAH. I think the strongest part of the AQ could have been the foils of Mavuika and Capitano that at least the shippers have latched onto. It was all right there. Opposing elements, evenly matched in strength, ending up aligning on a common goal, but the writing seemed to do everything possible to avoid letting them have any true contention or really to show anything in lieu of just telling us and moving on.

The idea of Mavuika being prepared to die a second time because it's demanded by the rules of the universe only to be outplayed by her counterpart who's been cursed to never die is really good, I just wish that had commanded the narrative and not hey. look at chasca's sister. look at her. she's hiding in a bush. are you attached yet? hey go look at citlali's house. she gets drunk sometimes don't you wanna fuck her? here's her house key. here's mualani. she's peppy. that's a personality right? here's iansan. she's uhhhh (looks at post it note that says 'To Do')

I used to dislike alhaitham a little for always getting to be right, but now I feel like I'd do anything to have him sit down and ignore us and rebuff any attempt at conversation, that was funny. I'm not into the 'yayyy everyone worships you wheee' type of Traveler.

Guys as someone who really enjoys the Archons on a thematic level the way they executed Mavuika as a character kills me omg

[mooseonahunt]

Finally playing the RE4 remake myself and I deeply apologise to my mother who was in the room with me when Luis appeared on screen.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Jing Yuan (incomplete, but the rest will be added behind the scenes) (... and a little return of Yelan's aesthetic, for I've missed her desperately)

[ruvviks]

made the realization my vampire story would work best as a video game and now i can't stop thinking about it

[reignpage]

Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great. 

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 

It’s fine. 

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that. 

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring and obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last. 

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you. 

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear. 

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 

Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.

But then…

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 

But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week. 

Fucking texted. 

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 

Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 

The door handle rattles. 

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 

You’re here. 

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason for keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No. 

It can’t be. 

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 

Toji missed you. 

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you. 

[chuluoyi]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

- sylus x reader

when your husband went away without so much as a proper notice, you thought you wouldn't forgive him so easily. but he tries everything to capture your heart back: spoiling and indulging you… little do you know that he expects a reward in return

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—rotten fluff, domestic bliss, explicit smut, cunnilingus, fingering, mating press, taking elements from sylus' card night of secrecy, secret times approaching dusk and spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall

note: my first sylus x mc fic! with this i'm spreading the soft!sylus agenda and that spicy 4-star approaching dusk has destroyed me :') loosely based on this post

Sometimes, you do wonder... does Sylus really think you're that easy to placate?

On one chilly morning, you woke up only to discover your hunk of a husband gone... and in his side of the bed, a sticky note.

Your eyebrow twitched as you read the audacious message scrawled on it:

Hey, kitten. I need to leave for a few days. There are things I have to handle on my own. Take care of yourself while I’m away. I’ll come back soon.

That was it. No clear explanation, no further details. Just those vague words in such short notice. The day before, he’d seemed like his usual self, not a hint of this sudden departure in sight.

It irked you. It made your heart clench at the same time. Because even after marrying you, Sylus remained elusive, playing his cryptic games. It was beyond you how he didn't even stop to consider how you were left worrying about him while he drifted in and out of his dangerous world without a second thought.

You understood the reality of your lives—that you were a hunter and he was the Onychinus leader, and that to be with him meant you had to walk that fine gray line between light and dark.

And you'd already made your choice. You had accepted it—accepted him—wholly. Even when your marriage had been a rushed affair and registered under false names to protect both your identities.

Things couldn't go on like this. You had to teach him a lesson too.

As your irritation simmered into determination, a devious plan began to take shape in your mind—a way to spite him just enough to make your point crystal clear.

Two days later

Sylus was done with his dirty business faster than he thought, and to appease you, he had come bearing gifts.

The precious little thing that is now his wife, of course he missed you too. But your safety was a price he wasn’t willing to gamble. If going away to take care of those pests meant your peace would be unperturbed, then he would leave without hesitation.

However, as he stepped inside the base, his relief quickly turned to unease. The space was eerily empty, the usual hum of activity conspicuously absent.

Normally, you’d be at the center of some commotion, locked in a spat with either Mephisto, or Luke and Kieran. But now—

“What do we do?! She’s gone!”

Sylus immediately rushed to the source of the ruckus, thinking something bad had happened to you. He found his henchmen standing in a tight, anxious circle around the coffee table.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without a word, they stepped aside, revealing the object of their concern: a single note lying on the table.

He snatched it up, scanning the words. Then, he let out a sharp exhale of relief, a smirk began tugging at the corners of his lips.

Catch me if you can.

Typical. Absolutely typical. And maddeningly you.

. . .

That night, you had a very strange dream, it felt almost felt like stepping into the pages of an ancient tale.

You were a fallen princess wrongfully accused as a sorceress, who began consorting with the fearsome fiend from the Abyss.

The sorceress and her dragon. Together, you were an infamous pair, a dark legend whispered across generations. Your union had ignited Doomsday itself... and yet, amidst the turmoil and destruction, the sorceress fell in love with the dragon... deeply and irrevocably.

The dragon, in turn, was utterly bewitched by his little witch. He indulged your every whim, no matter how mischievous or perilous, and though he rarely spoke of his true feelings, he always found ways to show his affection.

The lucid dream felt as though it might go on forever, but you were pulled from it by the soft brush of lips against your forehead. The warmth lingered, blurring the lines between dream and reality, until your eyes fluttered open.

“Sylus...?” His features, fresh from your dream, now materialized in your reality. It took you a few seconds to realize that he had come here—

“Morning, sweetie.” His voice was rich and smooth, with that familiar, mischievous edge. A smirk curled on his devilishly handsome face as he leaned in, garnet eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Caught you now, hmm?”

The haze of sleep vanished in an instant, and you were suddenly wide awake. In a flurry, you shoved him away and turned your back on him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You’d left the N109 Zone for one of his safehouses in suburban Chansia City, thinking it would take him some effort to track you down. Clearly, you’d underestimated him.

“Oh. The kitten is in a bad mood, it seems.” Sylus’ gaze lingered on you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do I owe the ire for?”

“...”

“Silent treatment, huh? The lady of the house is getting better at our little games while I was away.”

“...”

“Remember, sweetie, there’s no divorce in our relationship, hmm? If you’re tired of me, keep taking naps.”

You felt the weight shift as he rose from the bed and stalked away. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You wanted to resent him for coming and going on his terms, for never offering even an apology. Yet, no matter how much you tried, a part of you remained hopelessly tethered to him. The part that couldn’t ignore the reminder of the dragon from your dream—captivating, powerful, and infuriatingly hard to resist.

You love him, really you do.

. . .

When you didn’t come down for breakfast some time later, Sylus barged into the room once again, and this time he came up with a different approach.

“My lady,” he began, his voice sickeningly low and sweet, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. Please come down.”

You shot him a look, unamused, and decided to play his game as you crossed your arms together. “What if I don't want to?”

His smirk only grew, his tone dripping with mock formality. “And what must I do to change your mind?”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice his persistence. He had chased you here, given you more time to sleep in, and now stood before you to get you to eat. You felt your resolve beginning to soften—maybe just a little.

“Carry me there,” you said with a hint of defiance, lifting your chin high, daring him to follow through.

Sylus tilted his head, failing to restrain his snort. “As you wish, my lady.”

He placed his arms around you effortlessly, one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you into a flawless princess carry. You instinctively put your arms around his neck, and he turned to you.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire off a sharp retort, but before you could, he dived in—

Smooch!

—and planted a bold, wet kiss on your lips. You, wide-eyed, punched his chest in retaliation. “Sylus!”

He chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Careful now, sweetie. Wiggle too much, and you’ll fall.”

He carried you downstairs, effortlessly navigating each step with you still in his arms. Once there, he gently set you down onto the dining chair, and that was when you noticed the table.

Salad, slightly burnt toast, scrambled eggs, milk—simple dishes by all means, but the thought the big, bad Sylus making them?

Wait. When you arrived last night, this place was a dusty shell, and the refrigerator had practically nothing—

“You cleaned the place?” you asked, your tone laced with surprise as your turned from the spotless room to him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that so surprising? I can cook and clean just like everyone else.”

It sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He’d prepared food and cleaned the place knowing you’d be hungry and uncomfortable with dust all around.

You huffed, trying to hide how your heart fluttered. “No, your cooking skills are questionable at best.”

As if to prove you wrong, Sylus disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a tray of warm, freshly baked dough that filled the room with a heavenly aroma.

“You are... baking?” You approached him, mystified at the sight of your husband, who usually at the scene of crime, behind the counter and started frosting the cupcakes.

He set the frosting bag down and picked up a cupcake, holding it to your lips with a teasing smile. “Here. Open up.”

Dutifully, you nibbled on the cupcake, and the sweetness immediately spread into your mouth. “It's tasty,” you mumbled, blinking at him. His eyes crinkled with satisfaction as he gestured toward the tray.

“Go have some more.”

Grinning, you grabbed another cupcake and eagerly took a bite. Munching away, you missed how Sylus’ gaze softened, his bright red eyes focused solely on you.

He couldn't resist pinching your full cheeks at that moment.

“Sy-wus!” you protested, glaring at him. His laughter broke free that instant, warm and unrestrained.

Utterly funny, utterly precious—that’s what you were to him.

Indignant, you scooped up some icing from the cupcake and smeared it right across his face. The stunned look he gave you was priceless, and before he could react, you burst into a fit of giggles and bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you reached the base of the stairs, a strong arm caught your waist from behind, halting your escape. You squealed in surprise, “Noooo!”

Sylus leaned closer and pressed you to his chest, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Ha. Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

He lifted you up with one arm and brought you back to the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and trapping you in place with his arms braced on either side. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned in, and with a grin, he bumped his frosting-smeared nose against yours, leaving a sticky smudge.

“This is unfair!” you protested, still caught in a fit of giggles as you looped your arms around his neck for balance. Sylus chuckled along with you, his gaze steady and warm, never leaving yours.

Being with Sylus in the kitchen like this, savoring simple meals and smearing each other with frosting, it made you realize that you craved this domestic bliss more than you thought.

As the laughter subsided and you both settled into the quiet, your expression softened, all your previous grievances forgotten. The tenderness in your eyes said everything you didn’t need words for, and Sylus could see it clearly—you adored him, just as much as he adored you.

The one who gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul and sang to him in the night wind... is once again in his arms. A part of him was almost sentimental at the thought.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. But as they were about to meet, he paused, as if hesitating, leaving you puzzled.

Then, without a second thought—

To hell with it.

You chose to abandon all senses. You seized the moment—yanking him to you and capturing his lips, claiming him for yourself.

“…!” Suck, suck, bite, suck— You were relentless, and you didn't really know why. At first, even he was taken aback, but then his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in an intoxicating rhythm.

“Mmm...” You sneakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, your fingertips grazing his warm skin with each deliberate motion. Feeling it, Sylus broke the kiss just enough to smirk, his voice husky. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

But before you could respond, his hands trailed down your sides, firmly pulling you closer, leaving no space between the two of you. His gaze burned with desire, as if daring you to keep going.

Then, without warning, his lips began their descent, grazing your jaw softly before trailing down to your neck and chest, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers across your skin. The feeling was intoxicating, even as his hair tickled you, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Ahh,” you couldn’t help but sigh, pressing him closer.

His lips left wet marks on your neck, and he whispered, “Now tell me... what made you so upset that you left home?”

When you didn't answer right away, one of his hand slid beneath your blouse, unhooking your bra and grazed your skin—

“You... keep coming and going as you please...” you stammered, feeling him begin to cup and squeeze your breasts, your breath growing erratic.

Sylus bit down on the skin at the nape of your neck, and you almost gasped.

“It's almost as if— Mmm—” The way he fondled your chest made the space between your legs grow warmer. “—you wouldn’t... miss m-me at all...”

How untrue. He stopped his ministrations, and the steel behind those eyes you loved so much met your gaze once again.

His wife was a mess of sweat already. He swiftly hooked your thighs around his waist and claimed your lips once more. With effortless movement, Sylus guided you to the long recliner in the room, laying you down there, still lost in the heat of the kiss. His hand intertwined with yours, pinning you to the soft surface.

“So...” he rasped, breathless against your lips, “You’re upset that I didn't miss you when I was away...”

His other hand worked to unzip your skirt. “But don’t you know? I... was worried about my wife getting into trouble when I wasn’t with her too... That’s why I was in a hurry to go home...”

Sylus pulled away, both of you panting for air, and he took a moment to savor the sight of your glazed eyes.

“But then I couldn't find her anywhere.” His voice was low and taunting, trailing his fingers on your belly. “I made it back as soon as I could, just like I told you and you are the one who misbehaved... Don’t you think I deserve something as a compensation?”

It took you three solid seconds to realize that the lower half of your body was now exposed. Your husband parted your legs and settled his face between them, pressing a kiss on your knee.

“So I believe at the very least... I deserve this.”

He dived straight for your clit then and you let out a loud gasp.

“Ngh! Aaah...!” You let out incoherent moans as he devoured your folds, lost in the cloudy haze of pleasure. It didn’t take long to unravel you at all.

“Mmnh—!” Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head. Ticklish, hot, wet— all in all, it felt like a sin, but you just had to get this heavenly taste. “…a-ah!”

Sylus felt how you were this close to get your orgasm, so he moved faster, licking and sucking your clit, while adding a couple of fingers to bring you to the peak faster. You unconsciously moved your hips against his face— too far gone to be thinking anything else, grasping the leather of the sofa and pulling his hair—

“Ahh— S-Sylus!” And then you came hard, screaming his name, feeling how much it was— were you squirting?

You didn't know, didn't care either, as it was the sight of his ruby eyes that grounded you. You were spent, spread on the sofa (most probably ruined it, even), your chest heaving to catch your breath.

Sylus let out a low rumble as he wiped your juices off his lips with a thumb and tasted it, looking so sinfully sexy like a forbidden fruit while at it.

“You said... I wouldn't miss you.” He traced one finger on your face with such tenderness. “Now, I'm going to show you, and you'll be judge of it. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?”

If you said no, he would comply. That was the kind of person he was and you knew it. Sylus had always looked out for you since the very beginning, no matter how nonchalant he made himself to be.

“No.” You met his eyes, your voice steady. “Show me.”

It was the only affirmation he needed. He began unbuckling his belt and pants, keeping his unclouded gaze on yours, and soon he too was bare before you.

He was thick and long, and while you had taken him many times, it was never fully easy to ease the intrusion. His tip was already slick with precum, and he spread it along his length.

“You know the rule,” he murmured with a meaningful smile. “If it becomes too much, you scream, and I'll stop.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, sliding in slowly. The sharpness of the stretch seeped into you bit by bit, and you couldn't help but groan.

“—!” A sharp hiss escaped you as he fully sheathed himself inside, hitting that sensitive spot. Had your eyes deceived you, or was there a slightly noticeable bulge in your belly from where he was?

Sylus seemed to notice it too, but he folded your knees, spreading you further. His gaze intense and filled with something deep, something possessive. The room seemed to narrow, your entire focus consumed by him as he settled in close.

“Eyes on me, kitten.” He gave you a smile, and with that, he started pounding you—

“Ah, hah, ahhh!” You couldn't stop moaning beneath him as he thrusted into you. The feeling of him so deep inside, coupled with the way you tightened around him, sent waves of blind pleasure through you.

Sylus’ eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he watched you squirm under him. Your skin glistened with the heat of the moment, and the sound of your breaths, frantic and needy, filled the room. His control slipped, just a little, as he pushed deeper, his movements faster, chasing the release that quickly building within both of you.

A pretty mess, his wife is. Your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain as he bred you, and he swore, of everything he had gone through, this look in your face was always worth it.

“Sylus—!” you almost wailed, nails digging into his back, and he growled, knowing full-well that he was finally losing it.

Just like that he shot his cum straight to your womb, his own body shuddering, thoroughly rutting into you. You cried, tears falling from your lashes as you too reached your climax.

Full, too full... Yet you knew that you wouldn't have it another way.

. . .

It felt warm and comforting.

Your eyes fluttered open hours later, and the first thing you noticed was Sylus' sleeping face, and that you were now in the bedroom.

He looked so vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but be drawn to how serene and unguarded he was, a side of him that only you got to see. Even in his sleep, his arms were wrapped around your waist, as if to protect you from anything that might disturb your rest.

Your lover... and then husband. He was rough around the edges, sometimes didn't make any sense at all, and often reckless enough to burn himself playing with fire.

“You sly crow…” You gazed at his profile, still in awe that this elusive man was your husband.

Sylus was easy to read sometimes, and you couldn’t help but smile at your earlier doubts about him. How could you not see just how deeply he was attached to you?

Just like the inseparable pair of dragon and sorceress in your dream, you knew you’d stay by his side until the very end.

Out of a playful surge of affection, you tapped his nose, and he grunted softly but didn’t wake, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, seeking more of your warmth. It was cute, how he was so worn out that he sought comfort in your embrace.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then, vowing with everything you had that you’d never let him go, and that with him by your side, you would definitely made this life you shared a happy one.

Several weeks later...

“Thank you, miss!”

The boy bowed his head with a wide grin as soon as you handed him the red pocket money for Linkon New Year. You waved at him, smiling warmly as he skipped away, clutching the envelope in his hands.

The festive occasion inspired you to pay a visit to a nearby orphanage, driven by a desire to share more of the joy and blessings. You brought small gifts and red envelopes, hoping to bring a little light to the children’s lives and make the celebration even more meaningful for them.

Of course, Sylus tagged along too. He was the benefactor, after all.

“Sir, thank you for your generosity.” The headmistress approached Sylus, who looked effortlessly sharp in his red suit, and gave his hand a shake. “The children are really happy with the cupcakes and pocket money.”

He merely chuckled and pointed at you with his chin. “Thank her, my wife is the one with the idea.”

You joined the conversation shortly after, and it didn’t take long for the topic to shift from the orphanage to your personal lives.

“So, do the two of you have plans to start a family soon?” the headmistress asked, her tone warm and curious. “Both of you are still young, and you're so good with kids. Having children of your own might bring even more joy into your lives.”

You mustered a polite laugh, the words to gracefully deflect her comment forming on your lips, when—

“Soon,” Sylus interjected smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Very soon, in fact.”

You blinked at him, startled by his bold declaration, while the headmistress’s face lit up with approval. You nudged him discreetly.

As soon as the headmistress went on her way, you turned to him with a frown. “Why would you tell her that?”

Your gaze met his, clear and utterly clueless. Sylus snorted, so tempted to pinch your cheeks, but settling instead for a tender pat on your head.

“You'll see soon enough, sweetie,” he replied, his tone laced with playful mystery.

Epilogue

It was the dead of night when a sudden wave of nausea overtook you. Stumbling out of bed, you rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching up the contents of your stomach.

Your body trembled as you stood, dizziness threatening to topple you. Leaning heavily on the sink for support, you rinsed your mouth, trying to steady yourself. The effort left you shivering, your legs almost buckling beneath you.

Before you could even comprehend the blur in your vision, a pair of strong arms got a hold over you. “S-Sylus...?” you murmured faintly.

Without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms securely as he carried you back to the bedroom, his expression shadowed with concern.

As he settled you onto the bed, he held you close, pressing your face against his bare chest that peeked from his unbuttoned shirt. “Take deep breaths,” he urged softly, his voice grounding you.

You inhaled shakily, letting the familiar warmth of his scent calm your frayed nerves. Slowly, your breathing steadied, though the nausea still lingered in the back of your throat.

“Is it the first time?” he questioned, smoothing your hair. “Have you thrown up before?”

You shook your head. “No... I get dizzy spells but that's it... This is the first time.”

Nausea, dizziness, vomiting. It wasn't hard to piece together what it was. Amidst your dazed thoughts, the realization hit you, and you turned to your husband almost in wonder. “Sylus... a-am I...?”

Sylus broke into a smirk, ruffling your hair. “Told you. I know your period is late.”

Your heart skipped a beat—and it was the only thing you could hear in that moment. The thought that a baby would enter your lives left you briefly speechless.

“Yeah, at the rate we're going, it’s like we’re bunnies,” you quipped sullenly, trying to regain a sense of control as you leaned into his broad chest.

You really thought he would poke fun at you for your highly possible pregnancy, but instead you were taken aback when he pressed a fond, lingering kiss to the side of your head. His arms tightened around you, his soft chuckle reverberating through his chest.

And when you found his gaze again, his jewel-like eyes softened into such an extent that made your heart soar.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest man— having this fair lady be the mother of my child?”

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt

[gojoest]

URGES — gojo satoru

MDNI, pregnancy freak!satoru, f!reader, established relationship (married), reader is pregnant, public sex (in the train, but it’s just the tip), reader is going through hormonal changes that cause a very high sex drive + wears a dress, unprotected sex, pet names (sweetness), wc: 1.3k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

a/n: i implemented the ideas suggested by @/tapiocakisses & @/cherriel0v3r into this drabble, big thank you <3

Satoru adores every bit about your pregnancy.

Certainly, his favorite thing about it is the baby bump that had slowly started forming — all because it is the most unambiguous sign that you belong to someone.

Surely, he also likes to put his hands on your belly. He places them on top when you sit together, rubs it softly, or gently shields it with his palm as you walk down the street while his other hand firmly sits at the small of your back — after all, this is the most unambiguous sign that you belonged to him, because not just any man would walk around touching a pregnant woman like that.

Not just any man, but the father himself.

But recently, there is another aspect of your pregnancy that he had grown extremely fond of — almost addicted, in fact, to the point he thinks he won’t be able to live any other way once this “side effect” subsides.

High sex drive…

…which comes as a result of increased hormonal shifts in your body, causing an abysmal spike in your libido. Thus meaning, you keep him quite busy.

These arousal outbursts occur at random times of the day, and Satoru is always ready to deliver — even if it means making regular stops at home during work hours (a few times a day) or ending a mission in an abrupt and brutal manner (unnecessary hollow purpling curses left and right that otherwise could’ve been handled with less effort).

It is all for a good cause — he needs to take care of his pregnant wife.

Sometimes you’d wake him up in the middle of the night, pawing at his cock, sweetly and innocently asking him to fuck you.

The blood has never rushed faster to his groin before. In all honesty, those are the times he struggles with his self-restraint because you drive him absolutely nuts with a single word, and the fact that you need him this bad, so bad that you’re already wet down there between your legs — and he can smell it, so bad that you wake him up rubbing your thighs together asking for his cock because your fingers aren’t good enough to reach certain spots… messes with his head oh so terribly. If you weren’t in this fragile, pregnant state, he’d pin you down nasty and fuck the living hell out of you until you pass out.

He thinks to himself, that once the child is born the first thing he’ll do is fuck your brains out in the most obscene of positions that weren’t suitable during the pregnancy and take his pent-up frustration from holding back his stroke game out on that pretty cunt of yours. Well, until he knocks you up all over again.

…because he wants to keep you pregnant and needy for him, all the time.

Until then, he’ll fuck you tenderly. Sometimes with just the tip…

…as you so happen to be in public — in the train, on your way to visit the zoo during one of his rarely free days, when your urges just so happened to kick in. Again.

Even though, he fucked you good before leaving the house. Pretty sure his cum is still staining the inner of your panties even — the panties that are now slid to the side as you’re backed against one of the corners of the train where it’s relatively secluded, with your husband standing before you holding the hem of your dress up and high enough to access what’s underneath. His pants undone but still intact around his legs, it’s just the zipper that is down for his cock to be out and the tip prodding in your cunt.

It’s a good thing that he’s a big man and that his frame can cover the entirety of you once he is in front of you, so that people entering or leaving the wagon wouldn’t witness the obscenity beyond him. Fortunately, all they see is the huge, broad back of a tall, well-built man. And, well, a pair of smaller feet that could be spotted through his spread lower limbs, that is, if you looked down.

“Shh—“, cupping your cheek with his free hand Satoru quietly hushes you, tracing his index finger over your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, moving your hips slightly to swallow more of him inside you, and not just the tip. “I don’t want other people to hear the sweet noises you make, they’re for my ears only, okay?”

His finger moves away from your mouth, giving way for his lips to seal them instead. Because he knows that you won’t listen to him. You never do. And he really can’t make peace with the possibility of someone catching on to your voice. Not because you’d be busted fucking in broad daylight, inside of a train of all places. But because, that voice you make when his cock is inside you? It’s really just for him to hear and keep.

“Please, sweetness— just whisper your moans to me, in my ear only”, he mumbles against your lips, just barely breaking the kiss so he could beg for you to keep it down. Growing concerned on what he could possibly do if someone were to actually hear you.

“Nghh—”, you pant into him, incoherent. Easier said than done, you think but the words don’t make it out. All that is in your mind is how bad you want his cock inside you, all of it. The tip only is doing more damage than any good, teasing you further.

“Fuck me for real, ‘Toru”, you hiss at him, grabbing a chunk of his hair before dragging your nails down his undercut, then down his back, and then lower, and lower, and lower — until you reach his ass. Your hand kneading on it, sneakily luring his hips into you.

He wavers, he really does.

Beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, his bangs damp and sticking on his skin. His cheeks flushed while he breathes in heavy stutters as tremors run up and down his body, causing him to buck himself forward just a tiny bit before he stops himself. Terrified of losing his mind if he goes an inch deeper in you, because then — people would know and unfortunately see you in a state that only he is allowed to see.

His extreme possessiveness of you being the only voice of reason in him right now, no matter how contradicting the present situation is. He wants people to know that he fucks you, but he does not want them to witness it. His wish to be the only one you give yourself to is followed by the desire to be the only witness to how you do it.

“Yeah?”, he scoffs, his head falling back for a second then shifting to its previous position. Shortly after his neck cranes down and he nestles his forehead on the nook of your shoulder.

“Do you know what it costs me to stop myself from going all the way in? Do you have any idea how fucking good you feel?”, he laughs in a daze. “Pretty sure I just lost about 10 years of my life holding back, so please — please, don’t let anyone get to that sweet voice”, he pleads through a heavy breath. His voice is really desperate. Like he really is fighting for his life there, trying to keep your voice pristine to his ears only.

“There’s a café three stops away”, he continues after he peels his head away from your shoulder and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. “I can give you the rest there — can you be a good girl for me till then?”

You nod.

The zoo visit was clearly off the table now. But in a few more minutes you would be on the bathroom counter — legs spread and a cockful of your husband inside you — getting what you deserve.

[retrosabers]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could’ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

[kaiijo]

ok. bllk and jealousy rate. how jealous can they get over their gf and what do they do to cope lmao

HOW JEALOUS IS HE? — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku content: gn! reader (request says gf but reader is gender neutral) notes: some of these are lowkey toxic, minor spoilers for kunigami’s character arc, nagi is taller than reader

most jealous: bachira, rin, reo 

bachira meguru ✶

bachira has many, many insecurities. growing up isolated and without many friends, he is more possessive of those he’s close to, which obviously includes you. he just doesn’t want to lose you, which manifests itself in jealousy over anyone he perceives as a threat to your relationship

bachira gets really clingy when he’s jealous. he thinks that inserting himself into the situation, sometimes literally wedging himself between you and the other person. he usually chooses to drape himself over you, nuzzling into your neck and speaking low enough that only you hear, trying his best to divert your attention. third-wheeling is pretty uncomfortable for the other person, especially with the smiling sneer bachira’s shooting at them, so they make a quick irish exit 

itoshi rin ✶

an egoist to his very core, rin can get very jealous. while he’s very sure of himself in nearly every other part of his life, he knows that he is not an ideal partner a lot of the time, though he’ll never admit it. he’s not the most expressive or the most patient, and he’s sure that there are better partners for you out there. 

when rin’s jealous, it’s a silent but deadly thing. like when he’s locked in on the ball in a game, his focus you and his ‘competitor’ is unwavering. he stalks over to stand behind you, his chest bumping right up against your back, and he snarls, “what the hell do you want, you mediocrity?” usually the other person backs off after seeing rin’s bone-chilling glare but if they’re bold enough to answer back, rin bares his teeth and is poised to strike. it’s probably best if you diffuse the situation quickly before it gets uglier  

mikage reo ✶

we already know how jealous reo was over nagi so it’s safe to say that he’s definitely very jealous. having been bored with the world and other people for so long, he’s thrilled when you two get together. it makes his very protective of you and he wants to be one of the most, if not the most, special person in your life. 

reo can go a couple of ways when he feels jealous over someone else but it think his primary response is to tear down the person methodically. he tilts his head a little, looks the person up and down, and notes everything about their appearance — hair, skin, clothes (including brand and cost) and criticizes every little thing. it’s a strategic move in his opinion, using observational skills and knowledge he had given his upbringing to pick apart the other person. he also might make some underhanded comment that includes that he has a black card 

less jealous: isagi, kunigami, sae 

isagi yoichi ✶

he definitely gets jealous from time to time but he doesn’t feel the need to act on it a lot. he’s pretty mature and for the most part level-headed (plus his ability to piece together future events helps him keep his cool a lot). this doesn’t mean that he isn’t jealous 

when isagi is jealous, he’s sulky. he won’t take immediate action and watch from afar, arms crossed and a little pouty. he tries to look as dejected and as ‘wet-cat pathetic’ as possible to make you feel bad and come over to comfort him. when you inevitably do, looping your arm through his and kissing his cheek, he can’t help but smirk at the other person like a cat who go the cream 

kunigami rensuke ✶

i debated where to put kunigami since there are ‘two sides’ to him — pre- and post-wildcard. pre-wild card kunigami is definitely a lot less bothered; he trusts you 100% and is 100% confident and secure in your relationship and himself. post-wild card kunigami is less chill and more forceful. he’s not a hero anymore but even as he plays a more ‘villainous’ role in soccer, he won’t cross that line in your relationship. he’s still very secure in you and himself, but he’s more protective of your relationship. definitely a ‘i trust you/us but it’s other people i’m worried about’ kind of guy

when pre-wild card kunigami got jealous, he won’t act in the moment and will talk to you about it afterwards, in a private setting. open lines of communication were important to him and working out problems like this. post-wildcard kunigami is all stormy looks and intimidation. like rin, he also stands behind you but in less actively aggressive way and more just to be threatening. it’s 95% effective and the 5% of times it doesn’t work, kunigami is not above muscling the other person away 

itoshi sae ✶

i thought about putting sae in the ‘most jealous’ section but i just think that he is someone whose jealousy simmer just beneath his apathetic surface. he sees most other people as beneath him and believes that they are not worthy of speaking to you, let alone hitting on you, but because he’s sees them as so beneath him, he can’t be bothered half the time to do anything since they’re simply not worth it. he gets the most jealous when it’s people who he can potentially view as equals, like other professional athletes 

when he’s jealous, sae literally just pretends they don’t exist, only talking to you. if the other person tries to interject, he sends them a sideways glare — the only acknowledgment of their existence — and then turns away to continue whatever conversation, suggesting that you both get away from the other person as quickly as possible. if ignoring the person doesn’t work, sae doesn’t shy away from spewing vitriol at the other person

least jealous: nagi, oliver, michael

nagi seishiro ✶

simply put, being jealous is a hassle to nagi. it makes him too hot and too annoyed for him to want to feel it so he suppresses the feeling a lot. nagi’s height is already intimidating enough for most people so they don’t approach you when they see you two together but that isn’t a deterrent to everyone

when nagi gets jealous, he does one of two things: just gives a thousand-yard stare that freaks people out or he gets whiny and clingy. his stare is eerie and silent, and the lightness of his eyes doesn’t help it. he towers over you like some cryptid companion. when he gets whiny and clingy, nagi tugs at your sleeve and asks drily, “can we go yet? why are you still talking to them?”

oliver aiku ✶

sigh… oliver is undoubtedly someone who thinks and knows he’s the shit. with so many women and men alike fawning over everything about him, his ego is through the roof. he has very little worry about you leaving him for someone else. honestly, he finds it amusing most of the time when someone attempt to draw you away from him, and let’s it play out a lot for his own entertainment. of course, he’ll intervene if it’s making you uncomfortable but he also believes you can handle yourself 

when oliver gets jealous, he acts as casual as possible. he’s friendly towards the other person and but it’s not hard to uncover that it’s all fake, whether it’s from the glint in his eye or the way his smile is stiff and forced. common tells when he gets jealous is that he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek or he clenches his teeth and inhales softly but sharply.  he employs the good old tactic of calling the other person the wrong name and making all kind of underhanded comments that slowly chip at their nerves. (“haruya? haruki? oh! you’re haruto! right, right, you know, they’ve never mentioned you before! crazy, huh?”) 

michael kaiser ✶

kaiser in german literally means ‘emperor,’ and it’s no secret that kaiser views himself as one. similar to sae, he see himself as so above others that he’s not even bothered by other people hitting on you. it displeases him greatly, sure, but these cockroaches will never be able to steal you from him so why should an emperor deal with the plebians? the only time that ever happens is when a peasant is particularly forceful and then, kaiser intervenes

when he gets jealous, kaiser puts on a show. if there’s one thing about him, he’s a bit of a drama queen. he will absolutely posture and puff out his chest at the offending person, looking down his nose arrogantly and smirking. he makes a big display of wrapping himself around you, gripping firmly at your hips and saying, “liebling, you’re very charitable to entertain this insect, but it’s time to end this ruse.”

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[archives-of-a-hidden-writer]

Something Else

Thanos / Choi Su-bong X Nonchalant!Cold!reader

》Typing... |

》 [Entry No.003 - Something Else]|

》 Loading Archive Entry "Something Else" |

》 Location of Entry: Archivial's |

》 Notice: Entry Continuation, Archive Entry No.005

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》 Summary: Sometimes, being too calm at intense situations and gaining a bit of attention, even if it's from someone who is too high for this bloody game.|

》 Warnings: Spoilers for Season 2 of Squid game until at least episode 3-4, occur during and before the 1st game, reader's number is 457, implications of drug use, flirting, murder, blood, swearing, Thanos flirting with ji-woo before going after you. |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

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You thought everything was messed up, as you had somehow gotten yourselves into this so-called 'Squid Games'.

You wake up in an unknown place filled with people you barely recognize. Although some gave a sense of familiarity, you didn't delve deeper into this feeling. You don't know what was happening after all, all you remember was playing ddakji with some salesman who definitely did not give you a suspicious feeling and gave you a weird card after the game, and then all of a sudden, you're here in this children-themed place. Now, you are being told to sign a waiver before playing a 'game'.

As everyone lined up to sign the paper, the one in front of you, who's number is one lower than you, seemed to be slower than the rest, seemingly actually reading the written rules before signing it.

Shrugging the man's intentions off, you signed the paper with a quick glance at the rules. It might be useful to you in the future, keyword, might.

As you finished signing yours, you walked off the line to go somewhere in the room or the called dormitory. As this occurred, a ruckus was happening on the sideline as a purple-haired man attempted to punch another guy but was stopped by his friend.

You somehow recognized those two from social media, one known for making his fans invest in a crypto coin and the other being a rapper.

You just silently tsked at them before moving along, not noticing the gaze that followed me from the purple-haired dude, but it was soon averted as I noticed another girl.

■■■■

"Everyone please line-up one at a time," the announcement echoed through the labyrinth of a room as people, now called players, each took their turn standing in front of the monitor and taking a pic.

As you waited for your turn, another scene occurred with none other than the rapper from before as many approached him and started mentioning how much of a fan they were of him. He then called all of them to group-up and take a picture together, followed by the man calling the braided girl that you now noticed as player 196, but she rejected him. The whole ordeal was soon stopped by a pink guard nearby.

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As you reached the end of the labyrinth of stairs of a room, you and the players reached the seemingly 1st game.

An announcer soon welcomed you all before saying to wait as the game starts, Red light, Green light, the game is said. Everyone scoffed and snickered as the said game was a kids' game, but one man wasn't having it as he ran to the front and started screaming of how they would kill you if moved.

As the man screamed, you just raised an eyebrow at the player's antics, what a weird guy, but it wouldn't hurt to d whatever this crazed man says. But it seems a few were still snickering and joking at the man.

Soon, the game started, the child-like doll then started to turn and chanted 'Red light, green light'. Everyone started to move until the doll stopped speaking and turned its head at us. The man earlier screamed to freeze, no one moved.

The same thing repeated until mostly everyone reached the halfway mark.

As everyone froze, the few silent seconds were disrupted by a girl's scream as she spun around and moved before being followed by a gunshot and a thudding of a body. It was soon followed by another scream and gunshots as everyone who panicked and moved was shot and killed with the man from earlier screaming for everyone to not panic and freeze.

The real chaos and hell began.

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A few moments after the wave of deaths, everyone stood close to each other, lining themselves into lines to hide from the doll's detectors.

The plan somewhat worked, with a few getting detected and shot as they either failed to hide or accidentally moved.

It was once again disrupted as the purple-haired man had killed at least 3 players as he pushed them while the doll's head was still towards everyone. You scoffed at the man for killing others, but did you even have anything to say as the two of you met gaze before you looked away from him, focusing on the game at hand.

As you focused on the game, Thanos, the purple-haired man, couldn't remove his eyes from you. Unlike the other players, you were somehow a bit calmer than them, more eased at this as if it doesn't phase you one bit. It didn't help that he was, at this moment, had already taken his little candy and is over his own head. You were really something.

■■■■

Soon enough, mostly everyone got through the line, and now everyone can finally have a breather as they survived.

Everyone was then brought back to the dormitory, pretty shaken up by the game given to them. Well, everyone but you and some few players, you were pretty shaken up as well, but not to the point you looked like you just went to an actual war field.

As you do your own thing on your bunk bed, Thanos had his gaze on you from the other side. 'Player 457... You're...' "Something else..." he muttered his thoughts as his pupils twitched, looking around before seemingly coming back to you. His looked over to him and asked if he was alright. He answered that he's alright in english, earning a confused look from his friend.

Despite barely meeting nor talking to you like what he did with player 196, he seemed to be just as smitten at you. But could he even manage to muster his hyped feelings before the games take his life?

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》 Archiver's Notes: A short something for someone, @sukratyaropia24 , as a fellow squid game watcher and heavy on Thanos aka T.O.P. Had to skip the majority of what happened during the first game. Apologies for that.

》 Additional Archiver's Notes: Extra notes, I have removed one tag as I have noticed it wasn't even mentioned in the entry, which was reader choosing 'o', more so, the first voting wasn't mentioned yet.