#This but reader's eyes are constantly returning to him

[peri4stral]

For Sweets

Pairing: Bsf! James Potter x F! Reader

Word count: 9k

Synopsis: You and James have been best friends for ages, but when you go to the potters for Christmas break, certain feelings come to light.

Warnings: MDNI! Mentions of the reader having familial problems, few uses of Y/N, eventual smut, reader is described as shorter than James, porn with a lot of plot, oral (f! receiving), unprotected piv, no pull-out

The pub you and your friends frequent is not far from campus or your flat with Marlene. You two decide to walk despite the chill in the air; Marlene never seems to get cold. A contrast to you, who began to shiver the moment you stepped out of the comfort of your flat. The walk is unexpectedly pleasant despite the cold that nips at your nose. Snow has just begun to fall, clinging to the pavement and dusting your hair when you hear a distant whooping.

Down the street opposite you, you see the familiar faces of Sirius and Remus. You immediately notice the lack of James as you hear Sirius whistle and holler. “Oi, lovelies! Are you not freezing your knickers off?” he yells far too loudly as he approaches.

“My blood runs hot, Sirius, you know that,” Marlene laughs as she runs up to him, giving him what you assume is a bone-crushing hug.

“S’pose I was talking about our lovely Y/N. James would kill me if I let his Sweets freeze!” The sound of the nickname James had given you back in your first year of Hogwarts feels foreign coming from a mouth that isn’t his.

“I’m fine, Pads, don’t you worry about me,” you reply, though your teeth chattering leaves Sirius unconvinced. With a peck on the cheek, he gently plucks the hat off Remus’s head and places it on yours. “There, all better!” Sirius grins, clearly proud of his chivalrous deed before he links your arm with his and continues on your path to the pub.

“I thought James was coming?” Marlene asks, looking back between Sirius and Remus. You’re glad that you weren’t the one to ask. There’s no need to give your friends another opportunity to pick on James and your friendship.

“Monty called him just before we left. James said he’d meet us at the pub,” Sirius shrugs. “He’s probably making sure everything is in order for when we go home.” He squeezes your arm a little tighter.

Before you know it, you find yourself at the familiar table, back to the door as you sit across from Marlene. Sirius is off grabbing some drinks for the table and Remus is setting up a game of billiards.

The leather beneath you is cracked and worn by the patrons over the years, and your fingers trace the stitching of the seat as Marlene gushes about Dorcas. 

“I just don’t know, I mean I think she might like me, honest! But what if she’s just being friendly?” Marlene puts her head in her hands, exasperatedly.

“Marls, it doesn’t sound like she’s just being friendly! You said she was being all touchy,” you point out. “Friends aren’t just like that!”

“Well, what about you and James?” Marlene raised her eyebrow. You became aware of the clamminess of your palms. “You’re constantly all over each other!” She sounds more accusatory than you’re prepared to address.

“That’s different!” You assert.

“How is that any different?!” Marlene looks very pleased with herself as your eyes go wide.

“It just is!” You say a little too loud. “James and I have been best friends for years.” Marlene starts to open her mouth to say something, but her eyes focus on something behind you.

Before you have a chance to look, you feel a warmth radiating from behind you as the hat Sirius snatched from Remus for you is pulled over your eyes. “Guess who,” a cheerful voice chimes.

A smile spreads across your face before you move the hat back up your head. “Jamie!” You playfully chide. You stand and wrap your arms around his shoulders, acutely aware of his scent that reminds you so strongly of home.

“Hello, Sweets,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist. You can feel Marlene’s eyes burning into you before you return to your seat and James takes his next to yours.

“What did Monty want?” Sirius asks as he returns with drinks and beckons Remus back over to your table. He had just finished racking and made his way over.

“Just making sure we’re still coming,” James smiles at the table.

“He worries too much,” Sirius says, taking a swig. Remus leans over the table and takes a bottle.

“Who’s up for billiards?” Remus challenges before the table breaks out in cheers.

The next few hours are spent laughing and drinking with lots of Marlene getting flustered over the game. Despite the stress of upcoming exams, you allow yourself to fully melt into the moment. The atmosphere is something you wouldn't trade for anything: your best friends, full of love and laughter.

A couple groups of students linger towards the end of your night along with a few older patrons you have come to know as regulars. You look up at the clock, noting the time. Not too late, but with your final two exams less than 48 hours away, you figure it’s time to call it a night.

“Oi, pretty lady!” a man calls drunkenly across the pub. “What does a guy gotta do to get a date with you?” He comes up to your table and leans over you. “What d’ya say sweetheart?” James takes a swig of his drink. 

“Well, as much as I’d love to, I should actually be getting home,” you explain in the kindest tone you can muster. You begin to stand to walk to Marlene but the man follows your movements. You can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Come on, baby,” he says as you pull on your jacket and try to ignore him. “I don’t bite!”

“Mate, she’s not interested,” Sirius barks across the table. The man is clearly about to say more, but closes his mouth as Remus appears behind Sirius. Remus, despite his gentle nature, is very visually imposing and much taller than the man, who scoffs, and walks away.

“I’m about ready to head out, what about you, Marls?” you ask, trying to ignore the feeling gnawing in your stomach.

“Yeah about that…” Marlene begins. You look at her with wide eyes.

“You’re going to see Dorcas again?” you jeer. “I guess I’ll just have to walk home all alone!” You sigh dramatically.

“You know I’ll always walk you home, Sweets,” James says tenderly as he slips on his jacket. It glides elegantly over his toned arms and you can't help but admire him. “Only if you’d like of course,” he says. You almost think he sounds nervous.

“Yeah, of course. I’d like that,” You say snapping yourself back into the moment. 

“Well, Padfoot, Moony, it looks like it’s time for Sweets and I to head out. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, don’t have too much fun,” Sirius quips, and Remus elbows him. You try to ignore the comment and instead, turn to Marlene.

“Say ‘hi’ to Dorcas for me,” you say as Marlene gives you her signature bear hug. 

You and James slip out the pub door to find the snow still falling. Looking beside you as you start down the road you see the snow gently landing in James’s dark curls. You look at him a moment longer, tracing the lines of his face with your eyes.

“Enjoying the view, Sweets?” James startles you and you avert your gaze immediately.

“I was just thinking,” you begin, now looking at your feet. “Thank you for walking me home,” you look back to see him smiling kindly. He reaches out a bare hand to hold your gloved one; he and Marlene seem to share that kind of warmth.

“You don’t even have to mention it, Sweets. I meant it when I said I’d always walk with you. I enjoy the company,” his tender smile shifts to a cocky smirk. “Besides, you would be oh so bored without me!” You roll your eyes, but you know he’s right. 

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

“Jamie, you can’t walk home in that,” you motion to the window. The snow hasn’t stopped since you walked to the pub hours ago, and the streets are now coated in thick blankets of white while the snow comes down heavier and heavier.

“It’s not very far. I’ll be fine, Sweets,” James says reassuringly, though your years of friendship and the tell-tale tousling of his hair tell you that he is dreading it just as much as you are.

“No, you won’t,” you assert. “You’ll stay the night. It’s not like it’s the first time,” you say without waiting for a response, though you notice the tension melt from his shoulders. You don’t mean to sound bossy, but there’s no way in hell you’ll let your best friend walk out in that weather.  “I’ll get some blankets and take the couch.”

“Absolutely not!” He protests. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed!” He steps closer and you take an involuntary step back.

“You're not kicking me out, James, I’m offering,” you tell him.

“Well I’m declining,” he says smugly. Merlin, that smirk. 

“James, please,” you say exasperated. Something shifts in James. The smug look is replaced by something softer.

“What if we just both take the bed?” James asks, finally done protesting. Your heart pounds a little harder. It shouldn’t be weird, you and James have been best friends for years. You shared a bed when you were younger, what’s different now? 

He is. He’s taller and broader in a way that makes your heart leap into your throat. His boyish charm was replaced long ago with something that makes you dizzy. You’re different. Your desires even more so.

“Fine,” you concede. 

“Which side do you want?” James asks as you enter your room.

“This one,” you answer as you walk to your side and begin to turn down the blankets and sheets. James does the same, and you can almost imagine this as the norm. You observe his form clumsily turning down the sheets before he looks up.

“D’you want to have a pillow in between?”

“Only if it would make you more comfortable,” you answer almost too quickly. “I’m gonna brush my teeth,” you say as you grab some clothes to change into and walk to your bathroom. As the tap runs, you wet your brush you begin to zone out. Thoughts of James plague your mind. You imagine what it would be like to crawl into bed with him and fall asleep wrapped around each other like you'd wanted for so long. You know it is a futile thought, James sees you as one of his best friends, nothing more. Why is that not enough for you?

You finish up and pull out an unused brush for James. After slipping out of your jeans and jumper, you put on your shorts and T-shirt. “I left a brush for you on the counter,” you say as you reenter the room. 

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “D’you maybe have a shirt like that I can borrow?” You look down at your baggy T-shirt and feel heat rush to your face. 

“Yeah, let me grab one,” you walk to your closet and pick out a shirt that you think will fit. He disappears into the bathroom with the shirt and you slide into bed. When James reappears, you roll to face the door as he strides towards the bed. The shirt did not, in fact, fit. Your eyes trace over his body, from his blue plaid boxers to the bit of toned waist that your Queen shirt doesn’t cover. 

“Should I get the light?” he asks before slipping into the bed.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you say. He fiddles with the switch and as the room goes dark, lays down facing you. Soft moonlight filters in through the blinds as you stare into each other's eyes, inches apart. 

“You excited to go back home?” James asks, referencing your trip to his parent's house for Christmas. Home he called it. It had been your haven so many times throughout your years at Hogwarts.

“Of course,” you say, a smile spreading across your face. “I can’t wait for Effie’s cooking, Merlin, I swear there’s nothing better.” James chuckles at your enthusiasm. You just smile at each other for a moment before you yawn.

He matches your yawn. “Y’gave it to me,” he mutters through it. You fight your heavy eyelids but soon enough your eyes fall closed. You listen to James’ breathing as it slowly evens out. You roll over, back facing him, and quickly drift off to sleep.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

The early morning light filters through the window. Your eyes just barely flutter open to see the barely risen sun poking over the horizon. It looks cold outside. With that realization, you notice the warmth that surrounds you. You remember the events of last night and recognize James’ arm draped around your waist. The warmth is nice. A stark contrast to the cold you know waits just outside of your blankets. You feel at peace enveloped in James’ arms. You’re too tired to think about it fully.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

Your eyes open to the sound of the kettle whistling and a distant mutter. “Shit, shhh,” you hear faintly. You blink the sleep from your eyes and roll over to see the spot where James had slept empty. You're suddenly freezing, remembering the warmth of James wrapped around you. 

Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, you pull on your pink fuzzy socks and a jumper. You leave the shorts you slept in on and step out of your bedroom door. Marlene’s is still closed and you hear careful clattering of dishes from the kitchen.

As you walk down the hall, James comes into view with a tea towel slung over his shoulder as he stands in front of your hob. The floor creaks beneath your feet as you approach and James turns, his curls bouncing as he does. 

“What’re you making?” You ask noticing him still in your too-short shirt from the night before. 

“Bangers and mash,” he says with a shrug.

“For breakfast?” You cock an eyebrow. 

“You really need to go shopping,” he replies smoothly. “It’s what I could make with what you’ve got.”

“I didn’t even realise we had enough for that. Marls was s’posed to go days ago,” you walk into the cramped kitchen and observe the two mugs laid out on the counter. “For me?” You ask.

“Yeah, I figured this was the least I could do to repay you for letting me stay,” James says, motioning to the meal he’s cooking. 

“Jamie, you really didn’t have to do all this,” you say grabbing your mug. “It wasn’t a problem,” you insist.

“Well still, felt like doing something nice,” he smiles sweetly. 

“You’ll be giving your mum a run for her money with the way it smells,” you say as you sit in your dining area and watch James finish. “Plates are up —” he already knows where they are as he reaches into your cupboard and pulls out two. 

“Is Marlene home?” He asks. You peek around the corner and see her door closed.

“Think so. I wouldn’t count on her being up in time for breakfast though,” you say with a fond smile. James chuckles and sets a plate down in front of you. He places his own across from yours and sits.

“What’s that?” James asks pointing to the comically tall stack of books and loose papers.

“Why’d you have to remind me,” you groan. “I really should be studying for my last final exams.” With elbows on the table, you place your head in your hands and massage your temples. You were stressed. You tried to deny it to enjoy your time with your friends but eventually, reality always creeps back in. You were stressed.

“I could help if you wanted,” James offered. “If you’d rather study alone I understand. I’d be shocked, of course, I mean, I’m a great study partner but, if you’d rather be boring-”

“James,” you cut him off. You imagine he could ramble on and on if you let him. The cocky smile drops from his face slowly. “I’d love for you to help me.”

The smile quickly reappears, this time with a softer undertone.

The two of you pick at the food James made slowly, plates being pushed farther and farther across the table as books consume the space in front of you. James was right. He is an excellent study partner. Though when you weren’t busy studying the pages in front of you, you were studying his features; sharp yet gentle in the same way he is. 

Everyone knew James was a troublemaker, back in Hogwarts and still today. Not everyone knew that James is one of the smartest people you’ve ever met. He easily picks up any challenge thrown at him and promptly masters it. Yet somehow, he doesn’t let it get to his head… too much.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

Hours of flashcards and practice quizzes later, you’re wrapping up, much more confident than you were before when Marlene finally emerges from her room. It’s well past noon, but this is typical for Marls. If she doesn’t have to be up, she won’t be. What’s not typical for Marlene, is Dorcas following after her in a skirt clearly from last night, and one of Marlene’s jumpers.

You’re closing your final textbook when James shoots you a look as Marlene guides Dorcas to the door with a hand on the small of her back. They’re giggling about something as they put on their shoes and you raise your eyebrows at Marlene. She returns the look and walks outside with Dorcas. 

The door closes and in a second you and James are at the peephole fighting to see. His height gives him the advantage. “Shhh!” he flails his hands motioning to be quiet and you give up fighting him. 

“What are they doing?” You whisper-shout. 

“They’re just talking,” James says, face still pressed against the door. “They’re smiling. Wait, they’re laughing.” Not being able to watch drives you crazy. 

“Jamie, please just let me see!” You whine. 

“Just wait, Sweets,” he says calmly. Oh, wait, hold on. " It’s silent for a few seconds. “Merlin,” James says, breaking the silence as he pulls away from the door. She actually did it.”

“What!?” You push James away from the door finally and take a look for yourself. Marlene’s hands are on either side of Dorcas’s face as you watch years of pining all pay off. “Blimey! She actually did it!” You echo James. You look away after Dorcas rests her hands on Marlene’s hips. You and James look at each other, mouths agape, dumbfounded.

The doorknob rattles a bit, and you and James scramble back to the table, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Marlene closes the door, smiling. She takes off her shoes and looks up at the pair of you. “You guys can stop pretending y’know. I heard you against the door,” she shrugs.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

Euphemia Potter opens the door with a wide grin that matches her son’s and wastes no time pulling him into a crushing hug. This type of aggressive affection seems to run in the family. The house smells of incense and vanilla; Effie must have been baking. James goes to Fleamont next, Effie takes hold of Sirius, and finally you. 

“How are you, my dear?” She asks warmly. “I trust James had been behaving himself?” She gives a sly smile and heat rushes to your face. 

“Of course, Mrs. Potter. Jamie is always a gentleman,” your eyes glide to James, who is facing you from across the foyer when he sends a wink your way. 

“Let me take your bags, dear,” Fleamont offers. You smile and hand your things over.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” you say. 

“Oh, don’t bother with the formalities, dear,” Fleamont chuckles. “You’ve been around enough you could be our daughter.” You feel that warmth in your chest that the Potter’s always bring out.

“Why does she get her bags carried?” Sirius whines. 

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

“Now that you’re home, I hope you’d all like to help with the tree!” Euphemia’s eyes gleamed as you sat around the mahogany table. A table that has seen countless meals with the Potters and honorary Potters. A table that is worn with years of stubbed toes and bumped hips. With memories.

“Oh, Euphemia. Trust that this will be the best-dressed tree you’ve ever seen,” Sirius says, dramatically planting his fingertips against the wood. 

As serving plates fly around the table and conversation blooms, you can’t help but feel a certain bitter-sweet bliss. The warm and inviting environment of the Potters is something you wouldn’t trade for the world, but that lack of warmth in your family tends to make the holidays hard.

James catches your eye. “You okay?” He says across the table as the elder Potters and Sirius engage in some talk of him and Remus.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m just glad to be home,” you flash a grateful smile and James returns it with his upside-down smirk.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

The boxes fly around the room, organising themselves on the ground as James and Fleamont carry the questionably tall fir through the halls. Sirius immediately goes to open the ornaments, his eyes reflecting the glimmer of the baubles. You open the box of lights to test if they still work. They don’t, of course, not completely. You run the strand through your hands, searching to find a visible problem. 

The problem, it seems, is a single shattered bulb. You unplug the lights and reach onto the table where your wand was left. “Illuminatis,” you pronounce. Your wand produces a faint yellow light as the pieces seem to reassemble. You lean across the shag rug and plug the lights back in. 

“Always knew you were the smart one, Sweets,” James says, standing in Sirius’ way, as the lights illuminate the room, eyes locked onto you. You roll the lights into a ball.

“Glad you finally caught on, Jamie,” you call back, walking the lights to the tree. You see in your periphery Sirius fake gagging and James giving him a firm clap on the back. You feel the heat rush to your face again. Effie helps you string the lights up. The scent of pine envelops you as you pass the string of lights between yourself and Effie, slowly working your way up the tree. You struggle on your tiptoes, attempting to reach the top with needles poking everywhere when James appears behind you, plucking the ball of lights from your hands.

“Here, love,” he strings up the last of the lights. 

“I’ll start with the tinsel!” Sirius cries out, nearly toppling over an armchair in the process. He removes the tinsel draped around his neck in a makeshift scarf and pushes you and James away from the tree. “Everyone stand back,” he spreads his arms wide. “Let me work my magic.”

You slump onto the sofa, James beside you, arm casually slung around your shoulders and you find yourself appreciating the domestic feel of it all. Watching Sirius meticulously place his tinsel while leaning into James’s embrace. You could get used to it. 

“Oi, when will you let us take a turn?” James complained as Sirius moved on from the tinsel to the ornaments.

“I have more of an eye for this, Prongs, we know this,” Sirius mumbles while placing a golden bauble. Euphemia hurries into the room with a platter of ginger snap cookies. James lunges towards them before she sets them down and even Sirius takes a break from his precise decorating to snag a cookie. 

James sits huddled over the cookies when Fleamont and Euphemia sit on the other end of the sofa, Monty’s arm around Effie’s shoulder. Your stomach flutters at the thought of you and James growing up to be them before the reality of your friendship twists in your heart. You barely notice Sirius’ spectacle of placing his final ornament.

“Monty d’you want to place the star?” Sirius asks. 

“You kids do it this year, Monty smiles affectionately at Sirius and you, James still hunched over the ginger snaps. 

“M’lady,” Sirius bows as he hands you the star. “Would you Like to do the honours?”

“Y’know you can be such a gentleman when you try,” you say with a smile. You take the star from his hands and walk to the tree. As you approach, you realize again just how tall the tree is. You step up on your toes again, stretching your arms as high as they can reach, just barely unable to reach it. You feel James’s presence behind you and his hands on your waist. Your hands instinctively go to push him away, a flush of embarrassment washing over you. “I could just use a stool, Jamie,” you protest.

“But I’m right here,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “And the stool is all the way over there. Just trust me, Sweets.” you move your hands away and reach up with the star again. He only lifts you a few centimetres, an honestly unnecessary gesture, but James has always been good at being close to you. Just enough to make your heart skip.

When James sets you down, you both step back to admire the tree. “You do have an eye for it, Sirius,” you say, sitting back on the sofa. James follows you like a shadow, snagging another cookie before sitting next to you.

You all sit for a long while, basking in the light of the tree and the warmth of the fire. Effie goes to bed first. Monty sticks around awhile, telling stories of his Hogwarts days, before eventually joining his wife. 

“Well, I think it’s time for me to surrender to sleep,” Sirius yawns. “You coming, Prongs?”

“Sounds good to me,” James says, catching Sirius’ yawn. “G’night, Sweets,” James says.

“Night, boys, I think I’ll stay a little while, ” you say as they begin to walk to their rooms. You hear Sirius’ footsteps start up the stairs, then, James’s footsteps padding across the hardwood floor. He grabs another cookie.

“My before-bed cookie,” he explains with a wink. He follows after Sirius and you giggle a bit to yourself before you’re interrupted by your own yawn. You fall asleep in the light of the tree.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

You wake up to the sound of footsteps pattering in the kitchen. You don’t remember grabbing a blanket, but you throw the one covering you off and make your way to the kitchen. You see James standing in front of the sink, in nothing but his plaid, red pyjama pants, filling a tall glass of water.

James turns around, adjusting his glasses to focus on you as you enter in your shorts and tank top. “What’re you doing up?” James whispers.

“I heard you in the kitchen,” you whisper back. “I was on the couch.”

“I know, I gave you a blanket,” James shrugs. “I didn’t want you to get cold,” “Well, there's the fire too,” you quietly say back.

“I know, I put another log on it,” he steps towards you. “I really didn’t want you to get cold.” You couldn’t help but grin at the man standing before you. It’s so easy to love him. Even when you try not to, you love him. “Why’d you fall asleep on the couch?” James’s grin turns into a face of genuine curiosity.

“I just wanted to be in front of the tree…” you admit. “My family’s never been the type y’know. I just love you all so much, ‘n it makes me so happy to spend the holidays with you,” your nose stings with tears threatening to form.

“Sweets, I-” James starts. “We love you too.” Heat flushes your face with words left unspoken. You take a step forward without registering it, and he follows suit. “Do you want to talk more about it?” Another step. 

The moonlight filters through the window across the kitchen. He looks so beautiful. You think to yourself as you take another step forward.

 She looks so beautiful. James’s mind flashes with thoughts he shouldn’t have of his best friend. He takes a sip of his water and takes another step.

You take a step closer and by the time he sets his water down, you’re practically chest to chest. The moonlight reflects off of his glasses. You look past them into his eyes, trying to decipher them. The same innocent look in his eyes that you always saw in moments like this shifts to a look you’ve not seen before; a certain darkness to his hazel eyes. 

His brows furrow in what looks like some internal turmoil before every muscle in his face relaxes. You take a step closer and James opens his eyes, looking between your eyes and lips. He lifts a tentative hand to your face, brushing a thumb along your cheek. You tilt your chin up at him, rising to your toes ever so slightly. He lowers his face. You can feel his warm breath against your face.

His breath hitches in his throat, as you lean closer together. It’s so quiet out. The soft fresh snow outside muffles any sound surrounding the house. All that you can hear is the thumping of your heart against your ribs, and every thought in your head screaming at you to kiss him. James bends down before you can debate it any further.

He presses his lips to yours cautiously, almost scared. Every voice in your head stops at once, leaving only the feeling of his lips on yours. While he holds your face in either hand, you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. You tug on his curls slightly, earning a deep moan against your mouth. He presses his forehead against yours. “Fuck,” he whispers. “You don’t know how long I've wanted that,” he smiles giddily, his glasses crooked. 

“Jamie,” You breathe. That’s all it takes for him to be back on you. With lips anchored to your own and a hand tangled in your hair, his other hand trails down your body. From gently tracing your jaw he slides his hand down your neck, fingers brushing against your collarbone.

His hands find the crook of your back, massaging gentle circles into your skin. You bring your hands to his shirtless waist, scratching along his sides, feeling his toned abs and the heat of his skin. You shiver at his movement around your waistband. You feel his hand move to the fabric of your red thong. He runs his fingers under your waistband, just to feel you squirm.

“Jamie, stop teasing!” You whine. He only smiles against your lips before he moves his grip from your waist to your hips. He grips your ass and lifts you in the air, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sets you on the island countertop, the cool marble of the counter stings against your ass.

Your hand which was wrapped around his neck, instinctively reaches for his hair, tugging at a handful of curls. He pulls away and throws his head back with a groan. James has wanted this for so long. He has thought of this moment a million times in a million different ways. Never before did he think it would feel this good. He rubs circles onto your hips with his thumbs while moving his lips to your neck. 

“You taste so sweet,” he breathes against your skin. You tilt your head to the side and let out a breathy moan. You pull him closer with your legs, craving some form of relief from the heat rising through your body. You feel him smile against your neck. “Have some patience, Sweets. We have all the time in the world now.” 

You scratch your nails down his back while your face is buried in his hair. You gently move his face to meet yours and pluck his glasses off. You turn to set them on the counter and when you turn back to face him, you kiss him again. Slower, more innocently.

The innocence is soon gone when you run your hands down his chest, stroking your nails down his abs, resting on his waistband. He looks down at you, eyes dark. “James,” you whisper.

He’s on you in an instant. His tongue licks along your bottom lip, waiting for an entrance, which you gladly oblige. Your core presses against him, with nothing but the thin fabric of your shorts separating you. 

James and you are so involved with each other, that you don’t even hear Sirius enter. Sirius walks around the corner of the kitchen rubbing his eyes groggily, not noticing the sight before him. He reaches into the cupboard, grabs a tall glass, and turns on the sink. It's not until his water is almost full that he hears it. Lips on lips and heavy breathing. 

He turns around slowly, water still flowing. He wipes a stray hair out of his face to clear his vision. A vision of James and you, snogging on the kitchen counter. His water is overflowing now, he stares in shock, James finally fucking did it. Sirius had been telling James for months now to make a move. And he finally did. Sirius stops the sink, takes a sip of water, and walks back upstairs, a proud smile gracing his features.

You open your eyes, from the creak of a nearby floorboard. You pull apart from James, looking around for the source of the noise. “Is Sirius up?” you ask James.

“No, he was dead asleep when I came down.”

“Wonderful,” you smile blissfully and return your lips to his. You tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning another deep groan from his throat.

“Fuck, Sweets,” he moans. “D’you even know what you do to me?” You giggle slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he stares blankly. “You don’t do you?” You go silent. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Sweets. Wanted you for so long,” James holds your jaw in his hand, ensuring you’re looking at him and only him.

“Why didn’t you say anything, James?” You ask while lost in the intensity of his eyes.

“Guess I was scared. I didn’t want to ruin what we have,” James looks almost shy. “I care about you too much, Y/N.”

“What changed?” you ask. “Why now?”

“It was killing me, Sweets. Watching you talk about other guys, the idea of you move on without me. I couldn't let that happen without giving it a shot.” your tears threaten to spill, but you keep yourself collected. 

You reach your hand to his face. “I’m glad you did,” you stroke your thumb across his cheek and lean in, tentatively brushing your lips against his. You close the space between you, nipping at his lip.

You feel his hands wrap around the backs of your thighs and lift you off the small counter. You cling to James’s shoulders as he carries you, giggling into the crook of his neck. Your breath tickles his skin. His hands feel warm against your marble-cooled ass as he walks you over to the mahogany dining table. 

He sits you down at the head on the large table, talking care to be quiet. He presses between your legs and lifts one from behind the knee to get closer to you. He slowly lays you on the table, still holding your leg up.

You begin to roll your hips slightly against his bulge, seeking relief. James groans, throwing his head back and you pull his face back down to yours. “James, I need you,” you breathe heavily. James responds with nothing but a smirk.

He kisses you again, quickly this time, before moving to your neck, leaving clumsy dark marks in his wake. He makes quick work of your shirt, playing with the hem a bit as he looks back into your eyes. “Is this okay?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say breathlessly. “Jamie, please,” you beg. He begins lifting your shirt off your chest while you sit up a bit to make it easier. You lay back down, chest exposed to your best friend, who pulls away enough to take in the sight of you. You reach up to feel his arms planted on either side of your head. You feel heat rush through your body as he stares at you with a piercing intensity.

“Merlin, you’re so beautiful,” he says, knowing words can’t convey the intensity of his emotions. He lowers himself back to your neck, where he begins placing urgent kisses. His lips graze against the sensitive skin behind your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. He slowly trails his lips down your body, leaving darkened marks behind across your neck and chest. He inches closer and closer to where you need him most.

He’s kneeling on the hardwood floor, head level with your cunt when he looks up at you with a ravenous look in his eyes. He loves seeing you like this. “Do you want this?” James says hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

“Yes,” you whine. Your shorts bunch up as he pulls them off along with your thong and tosses them away from you. James raises his gaze to your eyes with a sultry look in his. He hooks his arms under your thighs, spreading your legs open wide. He sucks and nips at your inner thigh, darkened marks left behind to prove he was there. He kisses closer and closer to your heat causing your back to arch slightly.

After what feels like an eternity, James dives in. He dips into you, licking a stripe through your folds. You let out a carnal moan and James runs a hand up your thigh, to your stomach. “I want to hear you, Sweets, believe me, but we’re in my parents’ dining room,” James says, savouring your taste. 

He slides his tongue through your cunt again. “You taste so sweet, love,” his voice reverberates through your pussy, sending shivers down your spine. He flicks his tongue across your clit repeatedly, arms hooked securely under your thighs.

“You’re soaked,” he admires. He licks through you again, now pumping his fingers into you. You arch your back, a moan ripping through you that you try to muffle, hands tugging on his dark curls. His long fingers curl inside you, hitting exactly the right spot while his tongue ravishes you.

He swirls and flicks his tongue around your sensitive bead, fucking you with his fingers all the while. Erotic curses and stifled moans slip past your lips. With every tug on his hair from your desperate hands, James would moan, sending vibrations through your core. The knot in your stomach that you'd only ever dreamt of James Potter tying, began to tighten.

“Jamie,” you hiss.

“Hmm?” He moaned into your cunt. The knot tightens.

“James!” You cry out. He pulls away immediately. The climax that was just about to wash over you, drifting away.

“Sweets, are you okay?” He looks at you concerned. You brush some of his sweat-stuck hair off of his forehead, smile, and nod. 

“I need more of you, James,” you plead. James licks his lips and tastes you again, savouring every drop. 

“Are you sure, Sweets? If you’re not sure then-” 

“Jamie,” you interrupt. “I want you to fuck me.”

James stands and wraps your legs around his waist, then your arms around his neck as he lifts you off the table all in a smooth motion. You giggle as James walks you to the staircase, hikes you up a bit, and carries you up the stairs. He walks past the door to his room, with Sirius’ beside it, down the hall a bit to your room. 

He playfully but still gently tosses you onto your bed. While he turns around to close your door, you inch up to the pillows, not-so-patiently waiting for him to return to you. When he turns back to face you, his cock twitches in his pants. He’s sure he must be drooling at the sight before him. He removes his pyjamas and boxers at once, thick length finally freed.

He strides across the room to you, placing himself between your legs, he rushes to kiss you again. Frantic, sloppy kisses are all over your neck and chest when he positions himself at your entrance. He looks into your eyes again, waiting for confirmation. You eagerly nod your head. He slides the tip of his cock through your slick,  brushing against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

He pushes his cock into you gently at first, stopping before halfway, giving you time to adjust to him. His eyes are on you, checking for any signs of discomfort. You nod again, wanting him to keep going. He pulls out a bit and sinks back into you. He does this a couple of times before bottoming out with a groan. 

He pulls out and buries himself into you, eyes locked on yours. His hands steadying himself on either side of your body. He’s so gentle, almost irritatingly gentle. He pumps slowly in and out of you, every whimper or whine you release is encouragement for him. He begins to push in deeper and faster, interlocking your fingers with his and pressing your hands into the bed. You grip his muscular arm with your other hand, nails digging into his skin to leave marks.

He takes your leg, lifting it to get a better angle as he pounds into you. The new angle makes your thoughts blur and a wave of pleasure washes over you. “James, ohh fuck!” You cry out. He pulls all the way out, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing. The sight drives him wild.

He grabs your ankles, placing one on each shoulder. He strokes himself a couple of times and lines himself up at your cunt. He sinks back into you, his brows furrowed in pleasure. With your legs over his shoulders, his cock hits exactly the right place deep inside you with each thrust. You’re completely at his mercy as he pounds into you relentlessly. You feel your orgasm approaching when James slides out again.

He deftly flips you around so you’re lying on your stomach and he pulls you backwards onto your knees. He leans over your back, kisses your neck and shoulders, and then sits back on his heels.

He presses a few kisses to your lower back while gripping and squeezing your ass. You look over your shoulder and see James, beautiful as ever, glowing with a sheen of sweat and lust. Your admiration is interrupted by his sudden thrust into you. A guttural moan tears through you. 

James continues gripping your hips, pounding into you at a merciless pace, fucking you dumb. He only slows to fuck you deeper. You arch your back and James moves his hands onto your ass, gripping and moving you against him. Unintelligible curses and moans flow freely from your mouth, emboldening his movements.

He reaches his arms around your body, lifting gently until your back is flat against his chest. His lips move to your neck, one of his hands to your hip, and his other to your tits. He’s so close to you. In every way someone can be close. You’ve never felt such bliss. 

His hand snakes around your waist, moving to your clit, rubbing urgent circles on your sensitive bead. “J-James! ‘m so close,” you falter with each slam of his hips.

“Fuck,” he moans. “Say it again,” he says with each thrust.

“James! ‘M gonna cum,” you cry out his name again. He pushes your chest back to the bed, joining you as he presses his body against your back.

“You’re gonna make me cum, screaming m’name like that,” he thrusts deeper somehow. His lips return to your neck and his fingers to your clit.

“James, I w-want you to cum inside. I want all of you,” you say between moans. He groans against your neck and pushes your legs a little wider with his knees. He continues the abuse on your clit as his pace grows sloppy. His cock repeatedly hits the perfect place inside you.

You’re close and you both know it. James fucks you until you’re in pure ecstasy. The wave of your orgasm crashes into you, washing away everything but James.

James pumps into you a few more times, slower but harder and deeper. You feel his warm cum release inside you. He slows his pace and stops, his chest still pressed over your back. He kisses up your neck to your ear.

“You okay?” He whispers. You nod in response. “I’ll be right back, love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek and gently pulls out of your pussy, your combined fluids leaking out onto your leg. You hear the door open and close. In a blissful haze, you lay down on your side, and shiver at the sudden cold air against your body. The door opens and closes again. There’s a weight on the bed, a kiss on your cheek, and a sudden tickle of a washcloth on your legs. 

James cleans you up and peppers kisses all over your body. He helps you under the blanket and joins you, of course. Your back is leaned against his chest and his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. “Are you sure you’re okay, Sweets?” He asks again. You turn around in his arms so you’re face to-face with him.

“I’m really good, Jamie,” you smile at him, moonlight barely illuminating his features. Your hand reaches to his cheek. You press your lips to his softly but passionately and smile into the kiss. You pull apart and cling to his shoulders like he was keeping you alive and he pulls you tighter against him. You drift into a comfortable sleep wrapped in his arms.

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

You roll over to get the sun out of your eyes when you smell him. A homey cinnamon scent. “Jamie?” You say groggily, eyes not yet fully focused. When they focus, you see an indent in the pillows and sheets where James had been. You extend your arm and hope to feel some warmth you’d hoped he’d left behind. Instead, it’s cold.

You wonder what time it is, so you look at the clock on your nightstand. One of James’s T-shirts sits folded on top of the clock, covering the time. You sit up and lift the shirt off the clock, revealing a pair of his trunks and a note. For Sweets. The note read. You dress yourself in James’s clothes and a pair of trackies. You walk down the hall and to the stairs.

Monty and Effie sit at the dining room table. “Do you want this?” James says hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts. You remember James's words from the mahogany table the night before.

James and Sirius sit on the couch, watching the telly. Worried about if or how James wanted to go about telling your friends what happened, you sit politely next to James with a respectable amount of distance between you. You look at the boys and see James frowning slightly. He wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you toward him, draping his arm around your shoulders. You lean into his embrace, no longer worried.

Sirius clears his throat. “Finally!” He covers his jab with a cough. 

“Oi, I did it, didn’t I?” James rebuts.

“Only after I begged you to stop moping and make a move!” Sirius cries out. You can’t help but smile at the bickering of two of your favourite people. They continue back and forth for a while when the doorbell rings. They don’t stop bickering. 

You hop off the couch and hurry to the door, where you see Marlene standing out in the snow. You pull the door open and erupt into your ecstatic greetings. That was one of the best things about practically living with the Potters, Marlene's parents’ place is only two doors down.

“Happy Christmas Eve!” You yell together. “How have you been, darling? Has something happened?” She asks eyeing you.

“W-what do you mean, Marls?”

“Well, I mean…” She tugs at the waistband of James’s boxers poking above your trackies and the sleeve of his large shirt.

“Right…” Heat rushes to your face. Marlene looks at you with an inquisitive smile on her face. “We slept together, is all,” you shrug trying to remain nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach when you think of last night.

“Darling, you shagged the man you’ve loved the entire time I’ve known you!” She almost shouts. You rush to shush her, not wanting the whole house to hear Marlene’s theories.

“I don’t love him, Marls,” you insist. “I mean I do, but I’m not ‘in love’ with him!” The look on her face is incredulous. Marlene’s eyes flash behind you. 

“Speak of the devil!” Marlene goes to embrace James. 

“Only bad things I hope,” James stands behind you, hand snaking around your waist. “You should say ‘hi’ to Mum and Dad,” James tells Marlene with a hand stroking along your arm. She narrows her eyes but goes to greet the Potters anyway.

Once she is down the hall, James’s lips are on your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him. 

“Jamie?” You ask, turning in his arms to face him. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, love?” He brushes some hair out of your face.

“Us? I mean, what are we doing, James?” You’re looking into his big hazel eyes and suddenly the smile on his face drops. 

“Well, I thought… That y’know,” his usual confidence seems shattered. “We’ve been circling each other for so long, I just thought maybe it was time.”

“James,” you say seriously.

“Yeah?” He looks like a deer in the headlights.

“I think it’s time too,” you reach your hand to his face and tenderly kiss his lips. 

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

You take off your trackies and James’s shirt, leaving you in only his boxers. He turns down the comforters and climbs into bed, with a spot for you already carved out. You climb in and face him. Your breasts are pressed to his chest and you feel his gentle breath on your face. You fall asleep listening to the sound of James’s even breaths in his arms again. 

✫✫✫✮✫✫✫

Christmas morning comes with a gentle light through the curtains waking you slowly and softly. The warmth of James next to you creates a perfect cocoon of bliss. Your eyes flutter open and when your vision unblurs, you see James, lying peacefully asleep.

You roll over and start to sit up when James’s arm finds your waist. His muscular arm effortlessly pulls you back to him. “Mmm, five more minutes, Sweets?” he mumbles. You roll back to face him and play with his hair mindlessly while admiring his features.

When you both decide to get up and go downstairs, it’s been much longer than five minutes. The sun had already risen despite the clouds that darkened the sky. You trample down the stairs hearing the commotion of the elder Potters and Sirius. 

“The lovebirds are finally awake!” Sirius yells when you trample down the stairs. Euphemia squeezes Fleamont’s hand, sharing a knowing look. 

“What time is it?” James asks.

“Past 9, Prongs. It’s well past time for gifts!” Sirius exclaims, shoving a box in James’s arms as he sits down. He places a box gently in your arms, he always has a soft spot for you. “Now which ones are mine?” He rubs his hands together mischievously.

“Sirius, grab that one with the candy canes,” you say pointing to a gift beneath the tree. “It’s yours.” James hands a gift to each of his parents, and you all begin to unwrap. 

Sirius opens his with a gasp. “You got me Bowie?!” He squawks, holding his newest album, ‘Let’s Dance’. “You are so lovely, y’know that?” He leans over holding your shoulders. You shrug and smile with the satisfaction of a gift well-gifted.

The morning ends with a mountain of gift wrap on the floor and smiles all around. You gather your gifts and walk upstairs. You open your door to find James already sitting out your bed, with a small box laid in his lap. 

“I have one last thing for you, Sweets,” James reaches out to hand you the box, which you take as you sit next to him. 

“Jamie, you didn’t have to do that,” you playfully scold. 

“I know, but I really wanted to,” he says with a wink. You open the box to reveal a small charm bracelet. Not only any charms but miniature candies. Sweets. You hold the bracelet in the light, admiring each charm.

“Oh, Jamie!” You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “The sweets! I love it! Do you think you could put it on for me?” 

“Of course, Sweets.” You stick your wrist out and he clips it shut, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. You admire each charm decorating your wrist.

“Merlin! Are these little lemon drops?” Your mouth is agape. They’ve always been your favourite, since back in Hogwarts. The little yellow pearls that earned you your nickname.

“Yeah, of course! It wouldn’t be a bracelet for my Sweets without lemon drops,” he says with a genuine tone. You breathe out a laugh. “What’s so funny?” He asks.

“‘Your Sweets’” you quote. “I’ve just wanted this for so long, it doesn’t even feel real,” you shrug.

“It’s real, Sweets,” he reassures. “It’s never been so real,” he takes your hand in his. And you raise your other to his cheek, bracelet charms jingling with your movement. You meet each other's lips, savouring each moment. “Happy Christmas, Sweets.”

“Happy Christmas, Jamie,” you smile against his lips.

dividers by: @enchanthings

[burningembers91]

Body Talk - Seong Gi-Hun x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up Piece to:

Back Alley Bar Help Wanted

Synopsis: A night celebrating turns to something more when your hidden feelings finally bubble to the surface.

It was quiet in the bar tonight, Mondays usually were. You were grateful for the respite; glad you could use the time to cram some more for your exam. You weren’t sure how you’d made it to the end of your first year of university, but somehow you were on track to come top of your class. You’d managed to juggle studies while working two jobs and had stayed semi-sane in the process. You knew Seong Gi-Hun was to thank for that, always there to help if you were struggling, always making sure you had a smile on your face. He was next to you now, quizzing you using the flash cards you’d spent hours making the night before. He’d become a different person in the last few months, had transformed before your eyes. Gone was the man who drank himself to death each night, who barely remembered to shower and eat. Gi-Hun now made sure his hair was always styled, made sure he was always wearing a nice shirt when he saw you. He’d been sober for nearly nine months, and had started going to the gym. A steady job at a warehouse meant he had money to pay rent, and he was saving up for a plane ticket to visit his daughter in America.

You’d been good for each other, pushing the other to be the best versions of themselves, always support one another when times got tough. You were looking forward to a break from university, looking forward to a summer free of deadlines and exams. Sure, you still had to work two jobs to afford your rent and schooling expenses, but you were looking forward to a little more free time. Gi-Hun had promised you a day trip to Busan, a chance for the two of you to get away, even for a short time. Your friendship had blossomed since that evening in your apartment, and you found that you spent most days with him. You felt his absence when he wasn’t around, feeling like something was missing. Gi-Hun had begun to feel the same. You’d saved him from himself, had thrown him a lifeline when he felt like giving up. you’d been good for him, and his feelings for you had grown over the last few months. Both of you were tiptoeing around the chemistry between you, too afraid to spoil the friendship in case the other didn’t feel the same.

“I think I need to stop,” you sighed, rubbing your tired eyes. “My brain is mush and if I study anymore my head might actually explode.” “Just remember to relax tomorrow,” he smiled, “you know all the answers.” He’d learned that you had a habit of getting in your own head, of doubting yourself when things got tough. You were the smartest person he knew, and he wished you’d give yourself more credit.

He helped you close up the bar, driving you home before saying goodnight. Every evening, he found it harder to leave you, harder to watch you climb the steps to your apartment. He wanted to pull you back into his arms; to kiss you and tell you how much you meant to him. he wanted to make love to you on the sofa you’d spent so many nights studying on, wanted to hear you moan his name. he hated leaving you, hated returning to his empty apartment. He still struggled to sleep most nights, and his thoughts were filled with you on the nights he lay awake.

Gi-Hun couldn’t stop checking his phone the next day, constantly stopping to see if you’d had your results back. You were sitting your exam at 9am and had been up texting him since 5am. He wanted to take you out tonight, wanted to buy you dinner and have a proper celebration. He had no doubt you’d pass, but he still couldn’t help but feel nervous for you. you’d worked so hard to get where you were, and the desperation in your face was evident. He was on break when you called him, your voice shrill. “I passed!” You squealed breathlessly. “I actually passed!” “Amazing!” Gi-Hun couldn’t hide the joy he felt, his smile spreading wide. “Let me take you out tonight. We’ll celebrate properly.” He wanted tonight to be special for you, he wanted you to let your hair down and celebrate the fact you were one year closer to your dream.

That night, Gi-Hun arrived to collect you from your apartment. He’d gone and bought a shirt especially, the crisp white material paired with his favourite jeans. He was speechless when you stepped outside, clad in a burgundy off the shoulder dress. He always thought you looked beautiful, but tonight you’d left him speechless. “What do you think?” you asked, giving him a twirl on the sidewalk as he stood open mouthed. “Very nice,” he finally managed to breath. “Just… wow.” You bit back a smile, enjoying the effect you were having on him. You’d picked this dress especially, knowing it showed off your figure.

You spent the evening in a cozy restaurant, feeling lighter than you had done in months. Gi-Hun couldn’t take his eyes off you, every moment he spent with you only affirming how much he cared for you. You were breathtaking in that dress, and his found his mind wandering, imagining how it would feel to kiss you, how it would feel to peel the dress from your body. You noticed him staring, noticed the way his eyes wondered your frame; the dress was having the desired effect.

You walked home slowly, neither of you wanting to part. Your hands brushed against each other a few times, sparks igniting deep within the pit of your stomach at the slightest of touches. “Do you want to come up?” you asked him when you arrived back your apartment. The chemistry between you was electric, the air almost crackling. You wondered if he could feel it too, wondered if his heart was racing as much as yours was. “Yes,” he answered, swallowing hard as you led him up the stairs. He’d been to your apartment dozens of times but tonight felt different. The tension was palpable, his heart beating so hard in his chest he was scared you might hear it.

Unlocking your door, you headed inside, the two of you standing in your hallway, neither one of you sure what to do next. Gi-Hun could see the steady rise and fall of your chest, could see the hunger in your eyes as looked up at him. “Kiss me,” you whispered, unable to resist him anymore. You needed a release, needed to feel his lips on yours, his hands on your body.

Gi-Hun kissed you gently, his hands caressing the contours of your waist, snaking up your back to the nape of your neck. He heard you moan appreciatively against him, felt your hands trail up his arms and across his shoulders. He allowed himself to be led to your bedroom, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt as you went. He could feel his aching cock pressing against the tight fabric of his jeans, could feel the deep ache in the pit of his stomach as you guided his hands towards the zip of your dress. He was shaking as he helped you remove your clothes, the sight of your body setting his senses on fire. He pulled you into him, his hands exploring the delicate curve of your breasts, his fingers gently pinching your nipples as you moaned softly against his touch.

“I need to taste you,” he growled, pushing you down into your mattress as he slid your underwear down over your thighs. You were already soaking wet for him as his fingers explored you, his thumb tracing light circles over your clit. you bucked your hips, your eyes rolling back as his tongue replaced his fingers, tracing slow, delicious patterns against you. you had so much pent-up stress, and Gi-Hun was dying to release it. His tongue and fingers worked together, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. You tasted like heaven, your tight wet walls gripping his digits as you came for him with a shuddering sob.

You were so desperate for him, so needy as you pulled his lips down to meet yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, could feel his urgency for you in his kisses. You helped him remove his jeans, pushing him down against the mattress. You’d spent so many sleepless nights wondering what he would feel like to be with Gi-Hun, but nothing could match up to reality.

You cried out in unison as you lowered yourself onto him, his hands tightly gripping your hips as you moved against him. you were so wet for him, so tight and Gi-Hun found himself dangerously close to losing control already. You were so beautiful as you fucked him, your moans so loud and unabashed as your bodies moved in perfect sync. He directed your hand down to your clit, watching you pleasure yourself as you rode him. you were so confident, so sure of yourself and Gi-Hun was desperate to see more of this side of you. You could feel him getting close, could feel his thighs shaking as he neared the edge. His eyes were glued to you, to the way your index finger circled your clit, the way your head lolled back as you took every inch of him inside your tight core. He couldn’t hold anymore, a shuddering groan reverberating off the walls as he came, spilling every last drop of himself inside of you.

He stayed with you that night, tangled up in your sheets as you explored each other. There would be time to talk tomorrow, time to figure out what this was between you. In the morning, Gi-Hun would use words to tell you how you made him feel, but tonight, tonight he would let his body do all the talking.

[leonastarry]

hiii! could i request civilian!wife!reader going with jinwoo during the international guild conference arc? and it’s okay to not add this, but could you also include a part where reader gets kidnapped by dongsoo instead? thank you so much!!

p.s. i love your recent works! it’s all so cute and fluffy🥺 honestly been needing more fics of him😫

[ Req 3 ] A lesson. ✧. ┊    husband!jinwoo x civilian!wife!reader

A Korean plane landed at the airport. The reporters and hunters all turned their eyes to the plane, waiting for a certain famous Korean hunter to come out.

And when Sung Jinwoo stepped out, the hunters immediately felt his outstanding power. And even the German S-rank hunter had to back down because he felt hundreds of shadow soldiers in his shadow.

And then suddenly everyone noticed the small figure walking next to Jinwoo with his arm around her waist. They all knew that Ahjin had a vice-president named Jinho, but they didn't know who this person was. Looking at the way Jinwoo held her tightly and the way he looked down at her with gentle eyes, everyone could guess their relationship.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Seeing Jinwoo constantly turning his head as if he was searching for something, you turned around and asked.

"Husband? Are you looking for someone?"

"No. It’s just… why do those foreigners keep following me?"

Yoo Jinho laughed heartily.

"Hyung's so famous, you have a lot of fans. I bet they just want an autograph or two from you."

That made sense.

Jinwoo laughed and continued walking, not forgetting to pull you closer to him. He needed to make sure his wife wouldn’t get into any trouble.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Oh, there he is!"

"Sung Jinwoo!"

The reporters found him and began to shower him with questions. He didn't answer any, until someone asked.

"Hunter Sung! Who is the woman that beside you?"

He turned to the camera and narrowed his eyes.

"She is my wife. That's all you can be able to know, and stop asking anything about her."

SNAP-! SNAP-!

The camera flashed, over and over again. Woo Jinchul reached out to grab his sunglasses and put them on his face to avoid the flash. Seeing Jinchul fumble, you and Jinho looked at each other and smiled wickedly.

"Huh, what are you doing here??"

"I’m… responsible for Hunter Sung Jinwoo’s safety."

It was an answer that required a lot of courage. Unfortunately, the bustling atmosphere of the airport drowned out his voice. Whether it was intentional or not, Jinho picked his ear with his pinky finger and asked again.

"Excuse me, can you repeat that?"

"Whose safety are you responsible for?"

You and Jinho kept teasing Jinchul, making him blush, so Jinwoo stopped you two and pinched your cheeks, making you pout in displeasure. Then everyone was interrupted by Adams White's appearance. He said he would take you, Jinchul, and Jinho back to the hotel, while Sung Jinwoo would go somewhere else. At first, Jinwoo didn't agree with you and he separated, but you reassured him.

"It's okay, husband. I'll see you at the hotel."

He looked at you for a moment, then kissed you lightly on the lips.

"Be careful."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jinwoo returned to the hotel in a bad mood. Now he just wanted to rush into his friend's arms to find comfort. But all he got from Jinchul was that his wife and Jinho had followed Hwang Dongsoo after hearing him say that Jinwoo was looking for both of them.

Anger filled Jinwoo. He immediately rushed out and ordered his soldiers.

"Immediately, find me the location of your queen and Jinho!"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“What are you thinking? Do you have something to say to me?” Jinho’s lips moved, but his voice was too small for Hwang Dongsoo to hear. “What?”

Hwang Dongsoo tilted his head, then brought his ear closer. Yoo Jinho then whispered into Hwang’s ear. “SON OF A B-TCH”

Hearing that, Hwang’s face darkened. Unable to hold back, he reached out and pressed Jinho’s head hard against the floor. Jinho passed out and collapsed. “Fck. Did I kill him?”

“Jinho!”, you shouted, “BASTARD”

“You’re that Sung Jinwoo’s little wife, right? Your face looks pretty, I’ll let you off if you tell me everything.”

You spat in his face. “Keep dreaming,” Hwang got angry, grabbed your hair, and kicked you in the stomach. “B-tch!” You fell to your knees in pain.

Suddenly a High Orc appeared, causing Hwang and his companions to look over. Just as Hwang was about to attack, he heard someone's voice ringing in the wind.

"Shadow Exchange."

The High Orc disappeared and Jinwoo appeared in its place. Seeing your husband, you immediately cheered with joy. When Jinwoo saw the image of you kneeling on the ground with messy hair and arms holding your stomach with Jinho lying motionless with a bloody head, his anger reached its peak. He quickly hugged you and examined you, when he saw the bruises on your body, he immediately wanted to kill someone.

He rushed to attack Hwang, and when Thomas came to stop him, he showed an indifferent attitude. He summoned Igris, Iron, and Kaisel, handed you and Jinho to two soldiers, and rushed into battle with Thomas.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You woke up from a nap after being treated, you saw your beloved husband sitting beside the bed and holding your hand. Jinwoo saw you awake, he immediately asked.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere?"

You smiled to reassure him. "I'm fine now."

He breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his head. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I shouldn't have left you alone, I should have brought you-"

You interrupted him. "Okay, it's over now, I don't blame you, don't apologize."

"But-"

"Shh, no buts. Instead of apologizing, why don't you go buy me something to eat? I'm hungry."

He smiled and kissed you on the lips. "Okay, I can't let my wife go hungry, right?"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Woa, did you see the news?" "What's news?"

"Sung Jinwoo has defeat Hwang Dongsoo and Thomas Andrew!" "Really!? How did that happen?" "It seemed like they has messed with the wrong person. I heard that Hwang Dongsoo kidnapped Sung Jinwoo's wife and vice master of Ahjin."

"Serves them right, who told them to provoke first. Lesson learned is never touch Sung Jinwoo's people."

Need to reread the manhwa 'cause I don't remember the whole story. 😅

Hope you like it ❤

Thanks for loving my stories. ❤❤❤❤

[arcadia-of-pluto]

"Ghost of You" .1. || Caleb

Paring; LADS Caleb x reader

Word count; 4,561

Themes; angst (depression, anxiety, slight PTSD, nightmares, suicide ideation "it should've been me")

Warnings; cursing! That's all I got tbh

Notes; Hey guys! The more "mature stuff" is in part 2, but I'm warning yall...it's not even really mature 😭 this is just honestly an angst-y, lighthearted one-shot to celebrate the return of Caleb and how i can't wait for the update with him in the game. When he shows up, he's heavily out of character and it's honestly because it wouldn't feel right to have him being a dick to the reader whenever she's like this 😞

Also, this is lightly edited, but I probably won't be italicizing anything—

☆ Part 2 ☆

Sleep has evaded you for almost a year now. Every time you close your eyes, you’re brought back to that same place, that same time. Moments before the accident. You lose all sense of control, you’re helpless to your dreams as your body forces you to sleep from exhaustion…

You’re brought back to that time. That fateful moment eleven months ago. The day your life changed for the worst.

Your childhood home in the Bloomshore District looks exactly as you remembered. The metal gutters just barely hanging off, the chipped paint near the front window, the pristine black door that you and Caleb had to repaint constantly…

Your feet led you to the front door, following behind a familiar person - someone who you longed to see once more. Not wanting this to be your last memory of him.

“We’ve been outside for too long, Gran’s going to be worried.”

You feel a sharp pain in your chest at the sound of his voice. But you let out a small laugh and wave your hand, stilling your steps just a few inches away from the front door. “You’re doing it again. Just go inside by yourself. I’m not your sidekick.”

“Fine, but hide the blood on your sleeve before heading inside, okay?” Caleb says as he makes it to the front door, but he pauses to turn back and look at you as he opens the door, “Since you’re a grown-up now, I won’t cover up for you this time.” Then, he steps inside and the door shuts behind him. Once you hear the click of the door closing, you lift your arm up to examine the blood on your sleeve and let out a small sigh.

…No…

Not again…

Your vision is filled with a bright yellow and orange light, your skin feels faintly hot as you’re suddenly overwhelmed with a loud noise and your body flying a few feet back. The sound was so loud like an…explosion? You felt something warm dripping down your neck as you heard a faint ringing.

Through your blurry vision, you could make out flames licking up the debris in front of you and the thick haze of grey smoke. You could just barely hear fire crackling, the scent of something burning, the fumes causing your eyes to water. Your soot covered hands in front of you, finger tips visibly trembling.

Were you on the pavement?

How far did the blast take you?

You felt something warm and viscous dripping from your forehead, wincing as the vision in your right eye turned red from it. You shakily brought your hand up to your face.

Blood?

You let out a grunt as you try to push yourself up with your weakening arms as you were running on pure adrenaline. You force your pounding head to look around, your neck aching. Eyes widening in shock at the rubble and fire in front of you. The scorching flames radiated an intense warmth on your skin, so close and yet so far away. Noises of shock and pain slip from your lips at the sight of your childhood home going up in a smoldering blaze and falling apart with every passing second.

You’re unable to feel at the moment, trapped in this moment. In this nightmare. Unable to leave it as a sense of panic builds up in your throat until…You notice something gleaming just within the light of the fire.

Caleb’s…necklace?

Your breath comes out in painful gasps as you drag your body with your arms, sweat dripping down your body as you finally make it to the tiny flame. Without a moment's hesitation, you shove your hand into the fire. A hiss lips from your lips as you yank your hand back with the necklace in tow. A stinging, burning heat spreads throughout your right hand, but you refuse to let go of the metal dog-tag. Instead, squeezing your hand around it as your eyes filled up with tears.

He was wearing this…He was wearing this. How did it —

Your vision grows darker, blurry from your tears and you fight to stay awake, until your head hits the concrete below you...

You wake up in a flurry of bed covers as you fall off the edge of the bed and hit your head against the floor.

You click your tongue with a tsk as you rub your head. The small scar on your forehead throbs in pain at the reminder of what happened. “Fuck…What’s the time?” You grumble, sitting up on your knees to reach for your phone. The light from it momentarily blinding you.

“10 am, huh?” A small scoff slips from your lips. At least you woke up earlier than usual. Maybe you’d be able to get some work done today.

You notice a few messages from your friends, but choose to ignore them. Not really feeling like responding to them right now. You pull yourself off the floor and walk toward your closet with an uneven gait in your step, your leg sustaining a long term injury from the accident — but nothing that hindered your work as a hunter.

You get dressed in your uniform, your gaze lingering on the shiny, discoloured marking on your right palm that was in the shape of a dog-tag for a moment before you put your fingerless gloves on. Your hand reaches up to nervously wrap around the cool, metal necklace around your neck. The silver metal tinted with black from being in the fire.

A sigh slips from your lips as you quickly shake your head.

Stop.

You grab your laces and tightly tie your boots, grabbing an oversized hoodie as you walk out the door of your apartment.

You can faintly hear someone behind you, but you don’t care enough to turn around until you feel a touch on your shoulder and that’s when you finally look at the person. “Oh, Xavier.” You murmur, feeling partially concerned that you couldn’t make out his voice, but he was speaking near your right ear so it makes sense now.

“I asked are you working today?” He questions, concern fills his sky blue eyes and you have to look away from him. “I was thinking about it. I’m not sure now though. I don’t really feel like it.” You murmur, half under your breath, because it really is frustrating to want to do something, but then your mind decides it doesn’t want to.

“Then, how about we go out somewhere?” He asks, his voice taking on a soft tone as if afraid speaking any louder would break you.

“Do you…think we could get everyone else too?” You seem a bit more interested as you ask this, fully turning your body to look at Xavier as your thumb picks at your nails.

Since the incident, you’ve become a lot more drawn in and had a severe dislike for going outside, especially alone, so it might do you some good to be around everyone else, but you were worried that most of your friends would be too busy or you’d come off as a bother to them.

“I think that — I mean, I think Rafayel wouldn’t mind. He’s never too busy for you.” Xavier takes out his phone to look, his fingers tapping against the screen for a moment. “Zayne says work is pretty slow right now, so he can as well. Oh, Tara too. She’s free.” He glances back at you with a small smile, “But you’ll have to ask Sylus since I don’t have his number.”

“Obviously you wouldn’t have my number. But maybe for times like this, I should hand it over.” You hear a deep voice coming from behind you and turn to the left to see who it is.

“Sylus?” You question, brows furrowing as you wondered why he was just wandering through your apartment building.

“I own this building, sweetie. It would be a little odd if I wasn’t checking up on it every now and again.” He chuckles, tapping his finger underneath his right eye. “Rough night? Your eyebags look like they’ve doubled in size since the last time I saw you.”

You bring a hand up to your face, avoiding his gaze. “It’s the same as always, nothing to worry about.” You clear your throat and turn toward Xavier, “We meeting at Meow’s Cafe?”

“Zayne says he found a good cafe nearby. It’s relatively new, but he’s tried it a few times.” The ash blonde smiles down at you before gently touching your elbow. “Come on, it shouldn’t take that long to walk there.” Sylus raises a brow at this interaction and brushes Xavier’s hand away from you. “How about you walk in-between us, sweetie? If my hand touched light boy’s over there, I fear I might have to cut it off.”

“His hand or yours?” You ask, turning your head to look at Sylus, but all he does is chuckle with a small shrug.

The air outside was relatively warm, but there was still a bite of chill in the breeze. Your cheeks feel warm as the wind whipped against them. You shove your hands in your jacket pockets as your eyes jump from person to person walking past, walking across the road. The people in their cars, the people standing near the large store windows. You catch the faintest glimpse of a tall man with brown hair before your eyes are covered with a hand.

“You’re okay, Y/n. Everyone around is just on their way to work or to hang out with friends like you are.” You can hear Xavier say softly as he falls behind in walking to speak more on your left side.

“I know that.” You grab his hand, yanking it away from your eyes as you search for the familiar figure you just saw. Your brows furrow and a small sigh slips from your lips as you realize you lost them.

Again.

“We’re here.” Sylus holds an arm out in front of you to keep you from mindlessly walking and you look up at the name.

‘Sugar Spoon’.

Hmm…Doesn’t really seem like somewhere Zayne would go, but all right.

As you step inside, you’re greeted with the scent of freshly baked goods and coffee beans. You gaze skirts around the room in an almost paranoia manner until your eyes finally land on your three friends sitting in the corner. A sigh of relief slips from your lips, and you’re honestly not even sure why. You’re just glad they all decided to show up. You feel a slight touch to your back as Sylus guides you to the table with Xavier following in tow.

“Y/n, how are you feeling today? You look worse than before.” Zayne is the first to say anything and you groan, running a hand through your hair, “Geez, thanks, Zayne. You sure know how to make a woman feel beautiful.”

“That’s not what I — ”

“You look better than usual today, angel!” Tara cuts Zayne off as she gently grabs your hand and guides you to sit next to her, your back to the walls so you can keep an eye on your surroundings. “Don’t steal my thunder,” you can faintly hear Rafayel grumble under his breath before he slides a napkin toward you. A sketch of a fish jumping out of its bowl greets you once you look down at it.

“Should I pass this down as a priceless family heirloom?” You pick up the flimsy paper as you gently fold it up, so it can go in your pocket.

“You can sell it for millions at an auction in the future.” Rafayel states, almost proudly as he puffs his chest out, “I can guarantee it.”

A smile tugs at your lips and you can finally allow yourself to relax in your seat. Maybe today would be one of those good days you heard so much about. Almost every single day since then was awful, it was such a drag to do anything, but today feels a bit more positive.

An hour passes and you’re still doing pretty good, all things considered.

Zayne ordered you something sweet, having remembered that they can cheer you up, and thankfully it works. Tara makes sure you get your caffeine for the day. Rafayel keeps passing you drawings that he keeps making comically worse and worse. Sylus keeps you engaged by teasing you every so often, and Xavier keeps you looking forward to the future by making promises — specifically with a pinky swear, because you can never bring yourself to break promises.

But then, the group starts slowly breaking up.

Zayne has to leave, because a few emergency surgeries came up, but he makes a promise to take you out to eat later on today. Then, Sylus has to leave because he has an arms meeting in the N109 Zone — of course, he gives a different excuse to the others, but tells you the truth. He offers to let you drive his motorcycle the next time he stops by. Rafayel leaves next and he’s the most dramatic about it.

Complaining that his precious time with you is being cut short and makes you promise to come to his studio tomorrow so he can give you more drawings, to which you agree with a laugh since he’s bordering on crocodile tears. It’s down to you, Tara, and Xavier, but soon Xavier leaves as well as Metaflux fluctuation causes all three of your watches to chime.

Xavier places a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head. “I can take care of it myself. Relax, even if it’s just for today.” He ruffles your hair with a smile as he leaves.

“Tara — “

“I’m not leaving any time soon, even if Jenna calls. I refuse to leave!” She crosses her arms over her chest as her lengthy bob sways.

“Thank you,” You say softly, before your head jerks toward movement outside the large cafe window. Your bitten nails dig into the leather of your gloves as your eyes widen.

The facial structure, the brown hair, those purple-pink hued eyes…

You quickly stand up, the wooden chair scratching against the ground before Tara grabs your arm. “Y/n, hey, breathe!”

“Caleb…?” You murmur under your breath, trying to tug your arm away from your friend - wanting nothing more than to be able to run outside after the person you just saw.

He was right there. You saw him.

You turn toward Tara and stumble over your words, “You…You saw him too, right?” Your eyes were full of uncertainty and fear, worried that this was just another one of your delusions. You’ve seen him so many times while out with all of your friends, but every single time…They didn’t see him.

“I…” Tara sighs, letting go of your arm to pat your hand, “Sit back down and tell me what you saw.”

Tara was always the first person to hear you out in these situations.

“Walking past the window…I…” You sit back down, running a hand through your hair as Tara takes your hand in her own, gently rubbing her thumb across your knuckles. “I did see someone walk past the window. I can’t say for sure I saw him, but…The amount of times you say you’ve seen him, I think there’s a chance.” She nods her head and you can see in her eyes that she believes what she’s saying, “Genuinely. There’s a chance, right? You signed the certificate, but you only saw one body bag.”

Your brows twitch at the mention of the bag, but you thickly swallow and nod your head, “You’re right…” You take a deep breath and Tara taps between your brows with a finger, “Why don’t you tell me more about him, hmm? Like, for example, the necklace you’re wearing.” She’s picked up on how talking about Caleb is one of the easiest ways to calm you down.

“You’ve heard it before, though. Are you…fine with hearing it again?” You tentatively ask, knowing you’re excited to talk about it.

“Of course. You know my memory isn’t too great, so you can always repeat your stories and I won’t mind!” Tara squeezes your hand and that finally allows you to lose yourself in your past once more.

…You recall how upset and worried you were at the time. You looked down at the rolling suitcases at your feet and squeezed your hand around the handles of one of them, almost as if you could stop Caleb from leaving if you wouldn’t let go of his bags.

“Why the long face, pipsqueak? I’m just going to Aerospace Academy, shouldn’t you be happy?” At the sound of his voice, you looked up at your childhood friend with a pout on your lips, “But it’s aaalll the way in Skyhaven. What if I suddenly…I dunno…Crave your braised chicken wings?”

Grandma laughed next to you, coughing into her fist as she sat on the bench, waiting for Caleb’s bus with you both. “Don’t be too sad. He’ll be back for the holidays and when he is, I’ll make him cook for you every day.” She smiled up at you, gently prying your hand off of Caleb’s suitcase and tapped her hand against the box in your pocket.

A soft blush crept up your cheeks, anxiety building in your chest as you lightly swatted her hand away and brought a finger up to your lips.

“That means I should get a reward for being your free personal chef, right? What is it, hmm? Didja get me a send off gift?” He took his hands out of his pocket and tilted his head to the side, a small chuckle slipped from his lips as you scoffed and shook your head, “Who says I got you one, huh? Me being here should be enough for your send-off gift.”

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed you being all sneaky these past few days. I know what you’ve been doin’.” Caleb lifted his hand up in the air, using his evol to swipe the navy blue box from your jacket pocket. “Caleb, that’s cheating!” You grabbed hold of the box, but he shifted his hand up and it opened. “You can’t just use your evol to take it!” You whined as the jewelry hovered underneath his palm and you tried to quickly reach forward to take it back, but he lifted his hand up higher.

“I knew it would be in a style you really like. Won’t you put it on for me?” He held the necklace out toward you in his palm and you scoffed, “No way. Don’t you have hands?”

“Nooo, I don’t. Hurry, the train is about to leave.” He suddenly leaned closer to you and bent his knees so you could reach his neck. You breath hitched in your chest at the close proximity and you grumbled under your breath, “Hmph…Fine, but if I see it’s not with you next time, you’ll be sorry.” You took the dog-tag necklace from him and turned your head to the side as you clipped it around his neck.

“Perfect. Thank you, pipsqueak.” Caleb chuckled, ruffling your hair to mess it up and laughing at you groaned, trying to hit him in retaliation. “See you soon, Y/n.” He grabbed his bags, dragging them behind him as he waved, before boarding the bus…

“Y/n,” Tara questions as she waves a hand in front of your face and you blink a few times, clearing the fog from your brain as you focus on her. “Yeah, sorry…” You wince, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I know I’ve told you this before, but…Do you think you might’ve liked Caleb? Like more than a — “

The bell on the cafe door chimes as Xavier re-enters the cafe an hour after he left. “Did I miss anything?” He asks as he stands next to the table and you quickly shake your head, “Nah, I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Y/n — “

“Tara, I love you, but…There’s no use thinking like that.” You shoot her a forced smile, feeling your heart pang as you shove down your feelings, because if he’s gone, it doesn’t really matter how you feel. There’s no use thinking about it, because it’ll only hurt more to realize it after he’s already gone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe? If I don’t show up, try to convince Jenna not to fire me.” You lean down to give Tara a hug before you and Xavier head back to the apartments.

The sky already turning a beautiful shade of pinky orange as you entered the building and went up the elevator.

In front of your door, Xavier pauses, hesitating for a moment before he speaks, “Want to have a sleepover?” You raise a brow before a smile ghosts across your lips. It was rather endearing to see just how much he worries about you, and you nod your head, “Of course, do you even have to ask?”

You unlock the door with your thumb and step inside with him. Your orange tabby runs up, rubbing his body against your leg as he lets out a raspy meow.

“Leo…” You let out a sigh as you crouch down to pick him up, hand petting across his soft fur. Leonardo da Meowci must’ve noticed you were starting to feel a bit down…

“He’s already gotten so big,” Xavier comments, scratching the tom cat under his chin. “Isn’t he the one Rafayel took you to get?” “Yeah, he’s the kitty we saw back on Hat Island. I can’t believe someone just abandoned him there,” You murmur, resting your cheek against his fur, “Poor baby must’ve been so scared…”

You set Leo back onto the floor and head into the kitchen. Your stomach growls and you really wanted some braised chicken wings, but…You’d never be able to make them the way you wanted them.

“You want me to try and make something?” Xavier follows behind you like a stray dog, looking excited as he can finally show off what he’s been learning.

“Go ahead, but please, don’t burn down my kitchen.” You pat his shoulder and walk toward the living room. “I’m gonna watch some tv. If I fall asleep, wake me up.” You sit down on your couch, resting your sock-clad feet on the coffee table in front of you as you pick up the tv remote to click the tv on. Your eyes felt a bit heavy after a few minutes, but you fought against sleeping. You really couldn’t deal with another nightmare…

…“We’ve been outside for too long, Gran’s going to be worried.”

You hear his voice for the nth time.

You had to try and change something. Anything. You couldn’t let this dream play out like the previous times.

“Hey, Caleb…” You wrap your arms around your waist, stilling your steps just a few inches away from the door. “Can you use your evol to grab Grandma from outside?” Your heart was pounding in your chest, anxiety scratching at your throat.

“Huh, pipsqueak, what’re you talking about?” Caleb turns toward you with a raised brow as he opens the front door. He goes to enter and you quickly grab his arm. “Please, try? I’ll even resonate with you.”

Even though you know nothing with change no matter how hard you try, you want to, at least, have a happy dream tonight. No more nightmares.

“I…Alright, I guess I can try. Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work though.” He reaches a hand inside and you can hear Grandma let out a noise of surprise, before her laughter as Caleb brings her to the door. “Oh, my dear, what’re you doing outside? Come on, I reheated dinner.”

You pause for a moment, taking in the wrinkles on her face, how her eyes turn into crescent moons when she smiles…You haven’t seen her in your dreams in so long.

Should you just…go inside? Allow yourself to die in this dream, so you can at least be with them one last time…

No.

Avoiding their death completely is what you want to do.

You take a deep breath and grab onto Caleb’s hand, focusing on one thing. Forcing a resonance.

“Woah, pipsqueak, what’re you doing?” He turns toward you, worry evident in his pinky purple eyes as he tries to tug his hand away, when finally it clicks. A faint blue glow appears from your hands and you use this opportunity to force the two of them further outside. Using Caleb’s evol as if it were your own — that’s essentially what resonance really is. You power up their evols, but you can also use their evol as well.

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name, you meet Caleb’s fearful gaze and you lift your hand up. The two of them are pushed further away, far enough to where the blast won’t hurt them…and you take a step back into your childhood home. A content smile spreads across your lips as you keep your eyes on Caleb and Grandma as you close the door.

You take a deep breath at the sound of it clicking closed and you lift your arm up to examine the blood on your sleeve. You close your eyes. A flickering, dancing pattern of bright orange and yellow can be seen behind your closed eyes. The following explosion takes you off your feet and you can feel the pain spread throughout your body along with the searing heat of the flames licking at your skin.

You can vaguely hear Caleb yelling your name and the tearful shout of your name coming from Grandma.

Through ringing ears, you can hear the home falling apart, wooden planks falling to the floor, rubble tumbling about, the fire crackling against your skin. You felt something warm dripping down your forehead, something wet dripping all across your body. Your left arm was trapped under debris.

Was this how Caleb and Grandma felt at the time? If so, you’d gladly take the pain for them.

Even though this was just a dream.

You often wondered if it would’ve been better if it were just you who died, and not them. You haven’t done anything worthwhile since the accident. You’ve occasionally worked yourself to the bone, you made a risky move getting into the N109 Zone because you wanted to fail. You wanted to die, but somehow everything went perfectly. It was like something out there didn’t want you to die, but — it genuinely felt like whatever it was wanted you to suffer.

With blurry, blood tinged vision, you can see rubble and debris being cleared away with a faint blue light, until the sunlight shines into your eyes. You squint, a pained grunt slipping through your lips as you tasted something metallic on your tongue. Then, you notice a blurred figure.

You can’t hear what they’re saying over the ringing in your ears, but you can finally make out that it’s Caleb and you can’t help, but smile up at him. He’s got a terrified look in his eyes as he flings debris around with his evol until he can finally lift you up in his arms.

Ah…So if Caleb was the one outside, he would’ve saved you and Grandma…Well, isn’t that just a low blow? You really were useless until the end…

[ineedtogetintotomspants]

Class Bus Trip

(ended up on Tom's lap, his dick against you)

Contains: smut; fem reader sitting on Tom's lap, public indecency (engaging in sexual acts on public transports), profanity, no p in v (just grinding)

Summary: you're on a school trip, you and your class are on the bus, you end up on Tom's lap at the back, and you suddenly feel his hard cock on your ass and then shit gets steamyyyy

You're on an exhausting five-hour bus trip with your annoying, obnoxious ass class towards the amusement park.

This bus ride is by far the worst you've ever experienced in your life; everyone seems to be yelling at the top of their lungs, tossing random objects at one another playfully to entertain themselves, and engaging in other questionable behavior that you don't even want to witness.

All that's on your mind right now is when you'll finally arrive at your destination. The amusement park. The warm air, thick with the scent of popcorn and sugar, a rush of dopamine. The wind in your hair, your stomach flipping as you fall with the rollercoaster. The nostalgia... Roller coasters have always been your thing since you were a little girl. It's been ages since you were last there.

No matter how often you check the time on your phone, it never seems to go by. "This bus ride is so boring, and it also feels like an eternity. Fuck my life!" you think to yourself, as a loud sigh escapes your lips.

You glance over at your two girlfriends sitting beside you on the bus, gossipping non-stop about whatever meaningless, superficial crap you have no interest in engaging with.

Your eyes wander around the bus, then you turn your head and spot Tom sitting at the back. You notice he seems just as bored as you, scrolling through his phone, while Georg is totally conked out in his sleep, laying down on his side, sprawled across four seats, completely out of it, mouth open, a bit of drool slipping down his chin. He looks funny as fuck. You can't help but let out a loud giggle. You can’t help but let out a giggle. Tom hears it, glances over at you and then at Georg, and lets out a little laugh in return, shaking his head.

"Hmm... This sloppy potato sack is no fun! He's so fucking boring." he chuckles from across the bus, a grin spreading across his face.

"I’m bored too... My friends are gossiping about stupid shit again." You nod at him, secretly hoping he’ll invite you to hang out during the bus ride. Tom has always been a fun guy. Plus, he's kinda cute. You’ve been close since the start, but there’s this flirty vibe between you two that everyone seems to constantly point out, like they’re sure there’s something more than just friendship going on.

He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow curiously. "Why don’t we keep each other company during the bus ride, hm? Come over here."

A blush spreads across your cheeks as you stand up and make your way to the back of the bus. You scan the seats, but they’re all taken up by Georg, lying across them. You hesitate, not wanting to disturb the little sleeping princess. Suddenly, Tom looks up at you with his adorable, warm puppy eyes and taps his lap, an unexpected invitation.

"The fuck?" Your eyes widen, a nervous flush creeping up your neck as you stare at him, unsure you understood him correctly.

"Come on, sit. Sit. On my lap."

Awkwardly, you glance around, making sure no one’s watching. "Are you serious? Is this even allowed? What if the teachers see us?"

"You're acting like I'm asking to eat you out at the back of the bus or something... There are no seats left, so I'm simply being nice, y'know?" He flirts, while his tongue plays with his lip piercing.

"Fine... But don't make it weird," you warn him, turning around and sitting your ass on his lap, your back softly pressing against his chest.

He quickly pulls out his phone from his pocket to show you something. "Fuck, I almost missed the football match... Borussia Mönchengladbach against Bayern M—"

"Shut up! I couldn't care less about football right now. My head hurts," you interrupt, rubbing your temples. In response, Tom just rolls his eyes and starts watching the game on his phone, nudging it toward you, trying to get you to watch too. But football's just not your thing. "Look, look!!" he insists, excitement in his voice.

A few minutes pass, and the two of you haven’t really exchanged many words. Tom’s completely absorbed in his stupid football game. You start feeling a bit uncomfortable sitting on his lap, so you shift slightly, adjusting yourself and sliding a little higher up his thigh. He flinches at your movement, but he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his focus on the game, his body tense for a moment.

"You good?" you ask.

"Yeah..." he replies, though his tone is a little quieter than usual...

You start to notice something off with Tom. His chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths, his knee bouncing up and down, a tension in his grip on the phone. Out of nowhere, without warning, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You unconsciously shift a little higher up his lap, and now you can feel something poking your ass...

"uhm, what the..."

He swallows hard, his arms tightening around you, holding you in place. "What are you doing? "Don't move around so much..."

"Do you have something in your pocket?"

"I don't."

"T-then why do i feel..." You innocently adjust yourself on his lap, unwillingly causing friction between your ass and Tom's crotch. At the sudden movement of your hips pressing against him, he inhales sharply, biting back a groan. His eyes widen as he glances at the back of your head, in disbelief.

"You're... you're literally sitting on my dick" He lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples awkwardly, his breath hitches, and he feels his jeans growing tighter.

"Dude what? I didn't mean to, my bad." You apologize nervously as he takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before speaking again in a shaky voice.

"Scheiße... Just sit a bit lower. I don't need your ass squishing my dick the entire bus ride... The last thing I need right now is a fucking boner." He adjusts his baggy jeans.

His dirty words make your inner thighs quiver and clench together, your pussy throbbing unwillingly. You clear your throat, but before you get to speak Tom interrupts you.

"What? Are you doing it on purpose or something?" He laughs quietly against your neck, breath tickling your skin, his hips shifting slightly beneath you like he's begging for more.

"Hm? Cuz why are you still sitting on it, huh? You like it or what?" He whispers.

"Tom, we're on a fucking school trip... What are you trying to get me into? Talking like that..."

He pauses for a second, considering your words, before letting lust take over him, grabbing your hips firmly, pulling you back against him and grinding up into you.

"mmmh.. Oh Gott..."

"Tom?! Fuck, you're insane... It feels good tho..." You gasp.

He freezes as he hears the small gasp escape your lips, a rush of heat going straight to his dick. He quickly glances around, realizing how public your little exchange is becoming. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. "We should probably."

"Nobody can see us anyway... Georg is sleeping... Just keep grinding."

Cautiously, he glances around quickly to make sure no one is paying attention to you two being two dirty little fucks. Then, his hands move to grip your thighs tightly. "Are you trying to make me cum in my pants in front of all these people?" His lips trail tender kisses on the back of your shoulder, making your stomach flutter with butterflies, his hips desperately thrusting up against your ass, breathing heavily down your neck.

"Baby..."

"Baby? Not you getting all affectionate. Did you randomly decide that I'm your man now or something?" He jokes, biting his lip, resisting the need to cum right there and then, closing his eyes, focusing on anything but how much he wants to fuck you right now. "Shit, shit..." His voice barely above a whisper, as his hips continue to move towards your ass, while you bite your lip, trying to hold back your moans.

You've never felt so dirty and used in your life, but fuck, it feels good. Tom's cock feels already so good through his jeans that you can't stop but wonder what it would feel like buried deep inside you, what it would taste like, look like...

With a final thrust, he buries his face in your neck as he cums hard in his pants, his body shaking with pleasure. he groans quietly, his grip on your hips tightening even more as he rides out his orgasm. "oh fuck... oh god..."

Your jaw drops slightly, realizing what mess you've turned him into. Feels powerful tho.

As reality finally sets in, Tom's eyes snap open and he quickly looks around, realizing the bus has stopped and everyone is getting up to leave, letting out a frustrated groan, his face flushing with embarrassment as he realizes he just had an orgasm in his pants because of a girl in his class. You.

Meanwhile, the sleeping princess stirs awake from her nap, Georg, rubbing his eyes as he glances around the bus. His gaze lands on you and Tom, still sitting on his lap. Both of you freeze, silently hoping he doesn’t suspect a thing.

"Hey! The fuck are you guys doing? Did i miss something?" Georg jokes in a sleepy voice.

PART TWO?? :3

[deadhands69]

Black Coffee

Tenko Shimura/Tomura Shigaraki x gn Reader

Thanks for the request @s-0-ckz , this was so much fun to write!

“Black coffee, no room.” 

The man in front of you in line at your regular coffee shop grumbles his order before taking a seat near the window.

You try not to stare, it’s difficult though. 

There's something alluring about him. His presence feels oddly familiar, drawing you in. However, at the same time you've definitely never seen him or anyone quite like him in your life. For starters, he has distinctive scars, icy white hair, and vivid red eyes.

You peel your eyes away for long enough to stutter out your own order before taking a seat near him. He’s beautiful, in an otherworldly way, and you’re not sure if you’ll have the guts to ask for his number. Instead, you sit close-by in the hopes he’ll talk to you first. And you might stare a little.

He doesn’t, but his eyes flick up at you occasionally.

After forty minutes of debating in your head, you finally work up the courage to talk to him when he begins packing. He’s halfway through wrapping-up his laptop cord when he glances at you approaching him.

“Finally, I thought you’d never come over here.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. A cute smirk. If you weren’t nervous already you certainly are now.

“Is there a reason I should have?” you ask tentatively.

“To say hi to me, I saw you staring.”

Oh. Fuck.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, “I almost came over earlier but figured I’d wait for you to talk to me.”

At that, a new surge of confidence overtakes you.

“Can I have your number?” you blurt out before your nerves can stop you.

“Yeah.”

You type it into your phone as he recites the numbers to you. Opening a ‘save contact’ page, you click the name field. Rather than save him as ‘cute coffee shop boy,’ you ask, “what’s your name?”

“Fucking seriously?” he groans, “nevermind.” 

Before you can say anything in return, he shoves past you and he’s out the door. You watch as his long hair swirls around him in the wind. 

Then he’s gone.

What just happened?

Over the next few days, you dwell on it more than you’d like to admit. Who is this mystery guy and why is he so angry with you? At first you were disappointed that someone so attractive is upset with you, but his irritability is off putting so you got over that fast. Now you’re just angry.

On your morning stops for coffee, he’s there every day. You’d never seen him here before but now he’s around constantly, glaring at you every time you enter. You’ve been taking your coffee to go lately just to avoid any awkwardness. 

This morning, you’ve had it. What right does he have to take one of your favorite places from you? You were here first. Also, it’s not like you did anything wrong. If he’s going to be grouchy, that’s on him.

“[y/n]” the barista calls out. You grab the ceramic mug before looking around for a spot.

This time, you’re the only two customers in here. Avoiding him and whatever temper he’s hiding today will be nearly impossible. Partially out of spite, you settle into a window seat directly facing him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him roll his eyes. He’s hot, even when he’s staring daggers in your direction and you hate that you’re even having that thought. You try hard not to look at him, pretending to have some sudden interest in the condensation dripping down the window.

After twenty minutes pass without issue, you figure he got over it. Not quite.

“Have you figured it out yet?” he taunts from two tables away. 

“Figured what out?”

“Seriously?” he looks at you incredulously, “you really don't remember me?”

Remember him from where? You’d remember someone with cherry red eyes and long milky hair.

You stare at him inquisitively. He almost reminds you of your best friend growing up, it can’t be him though. Tenko died in a villain attack with his family years ago. Plus, he had darker hair and eyes. You’d remember, a photo of the two of you as kids is your lockscreen background.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

He looks more sad than angry as he turns his back to you and leaves again.

That night, you’re still thinking about it. It’s driving you crazy and you’d rather just be done with it. You decide to text him. Not like there’s anything to lose, right?

[you] Where do I know you from? [you] Can you just give me a hint? [cute angry coffee shop boy] I can’t believe you just forgot me like that, after everything. wtf [y/n]

You never gave him your name. Maybe he overheard it from the barista.

The two of you exist in the same space, not talking for the next few mornings. You’ve given up on thinking of where you could possibly have met him and he’s given up pushing you. Yet, he’s still here when surely there’s somewhere else he could be. 

Today, the shop is packed. The sound of ceramic clinking and low conversations drown out the lofi played in the background. You’re glad to find the one open chair in the place until you see who it’s next to. 

“I won’t bite, just fucking sit,” says the man who’s name you still don’t know. He pulls the chair out for you, not bothering to look up. 

You glance at the full mug you’re holding; you should have gotten it to go. Reluctantly, you sit. Pulling out your phone to read an article and ignoring him as much as you can. A few minutes later, the barista calls out your pastry order. You drop your phone on the table and make your way to the counter.

On the short walk back, you see your phone buzz on the table ahead. A head of white hair turns to the distraction and freezes.

You sit, trying to carry on with your morning, but the man next to you is still staring. He doesn’t move, even after you sit down. He looks like he saw a ghost.

“Thought you didn’t care,” he mumbles quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do I really look that different now?” he picks up your phone, holding the display next to his face. 

Outside of the hair and eye color, the resemblance is uncanny. How did you not notice?

“T-Tenko?” you whisper, “you-you’re alive?”

No wonder he was upset, the two of you were best friends as kids. You never could have imagined seeing him again. Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him; practically jumping onto his lap. 

“I can’t believe it’s you,” you half sob into the hood of his sweatshirt. He even smells like you remember. 

The two of you spend the rest of the day catching up. In what feels like less than an hour, the place is empty and your favorite barista is flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’

“Time to finish your drinks,” he says, “didn’t think I’d see you two talking all day.” He disappears into the back to finish cleaning.

Tenko looks at you, nervous for the first time since you’ve met him again. “Uhm,” he starts, “want to grab dinner? I get it if you already have plans and need to go but it would be nice to talk more.”

“No,” you clarify, “I mean, I have no plans. I’d love to.”

“Perfect,” he smiles, “it’s a date then.”

masterlist

[witchygagirlwrites]

Consider Me Gone-Part 6

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader x Jay Halstead/Gerstead x Reader

With the help of your guys you start to find your way back to yourself and they promise to make sure you never lose yourself again

Warnings: Talk of suicidal thoughts/actions, talks of a past OD, talks of depression

You woke up slowly, your stomach rolling. Memories of the night before hit you when consciousness finally won out over the sleep that wanted to cling to your mind. Every time you’d wake up Mouse and Jay were there, neither of them tried to touch you, they just let you know they were there, reassuring you that you were safe, your dreams were just memories, flashbacks or cruel nightmares.

Your entire body ached from night after night of tensing your muscles. You needed a hot bath but after what happened the night before you were honestly worried about locking yourself in the bathroom that long. After a few minutes laying there with your eyes closed you knew you needed to sit up, they knew you were awake anyways, just like you’d known they were awake. 

The three of you knew each other inside and out. You opened your eyes and was turned facing Mouse who smiled softly when he saw your eyes were on him. “Good Morning sweetheart” you managed a small but genuine smile in return “Morning” you grimaced slightly at how your voice sounded. You turned onto your back and scooted up the bed until you hit the headboard and was sitting between the two of them, a pillow’s worth of space between your hips and each of theirs.

“Morning Jay” you whispered to keep from stressing your voice first thing. He smiled “Morning Princess” you leaned your head back and closed your eyes again “Did you two sleep any?” “A little” Mouse replied and you opened your eyes, rolling your head to look at him “Greg, don’t lie to me” a small grin worked its way onto his face “Ok, no we didn’t sleep. We wanted to make sure we were here for you”

You shook your head and sighed “Christ, we’re all fucking hopeless aren’t we” “Don’t say that baby” Jay pleaded and you turned your head to look at him, your heart breaking at seeing how hurt he looked. “Can we talk about last night?” you asked, not looking at either of them but knowing that the subject needed to be tackled but the three of you got out of that bed and started your day. 

At least it was a Saturday and short of a case rolling into intelligence they were off and could possibly get some sleep. “You told Ethan you wanted the pain to go away..that you couldn’t deal with it anymore” Jay whispered. “That’s what you said when you called us that night..” Mouse added and you heard his voice break at the end. You nodded, eyes glued to the closed bedroom door “I do want the pain to go away, I hate feeling broken..I hate constantly seeing the faces of everyone I failed…the families of those men and women…you two saw absolute hell on that field I would never say anything different but Jay? What did you say scared you worse than firefights?”

“Facing the families of the men who didn’t make it home” he answered so you turned your head to face him, tears slowly working their way out of your eyes and down your face “I sought them out Jay. When we got home, I sought them out” “What?” he asked and you nodded “Before everything, before Nevada or Tennessee or Greg’s OD…when we got stateside and you two went your own way I got my car from Katie’s and hit the road”

“You’ve never told us that sweetheart” Mouse spoke and you shrugged, turning to look at him “When was I supposed to saddle you two with that? Between Jay’s doctor’s appointments to ensure his eye socket  healed correctly or oh when he was in the academy or how about when you were in rehab? That would’ve been a great time”

“Can we talk about it now?” Jay asked and you shrugged “Does it matter?” “Yes” they both answered in unison. You looked from one to the other as they shared a look then Mouse explained  “It took our fireball and nearly broke her..it put you on a cliffside, half frozen when Katie found you..it’s nearly taken you from us again..baby please give it to us..whatever weight you’re carrying let us help”  “Loving you has come as easy as breathing to us. You have saved us so many times. This once please let us fight for you” Jay pleaded.

_____________________

A sob fell from your throat and they both moved towards you but stopped at the last moment “Can we hold you?” Mouse asked and Jay added “Please?” you nodded and both of their arms were wrapped around you instantly, cradling you between their chests. “Talk to us love” Mouse pleaded. “I know we should’ve been saying that this whole time but please forgive us, we will be the men you deserve” Jay added and you curled into them further before saying “The ones with the kids were the worst..seeing so many and some were too young to quite understand so if they saw any of my uniform or my dog tags they thought I was bringing their daddy home..”

“I can tell you the name of every person whose family I met, where they live. What they said to me and just how bad it haunts my fucking dreams..sons,

daughters,husbands,wives,boyfriends,girlfriends..so many people I couldn’t fucking save..so many lives lost because I wasn’t fast enough or smart enough or just enough”  They moved closer to each other so you could burrow further into them. “Tell us..get it out..please” Jay pleaded, one hand rubbing circles across your back as he spoke.

“Mark Jacobs, Atlanta Georgia. He was twenty. Was raised by a single dad, Andrew. He asked me how the hell a five foot something woman made it home when his son who was six foot two and two hundred something pounds didn’t…” you felt their arms tighten at times as you spoke and knew some of the less kind stories didn’t set right with them.

“Sarah Lyle, Richmond Virginia. Thirty one. Her husband shook my hand and thanked me for my service. I heard two days later he shot himself and was found holding their wedding photo and the letter I bought him”   

You laid there against their chests and told them one by one every family you visited when you got home,every word they told you. “The one that absolutely gutted me was Johnathan Kellan. He had a newborn that was born the day he was due to be home. I should’ve been able to save him..I fucking tried so damn hard..his wife Layla..she should’ve hated me…but you know what she did?”

You cut your eyes up to look at them and they both shook their heads “What baby?” Mouse asked and another sob fell from your throat “She hugged me and thanked me for her son’s father not dying alone. She told me one look in my eyes told her that I had done everything in my power to bring her Johnny home and that she was forever grateful to me for that…I had to sleep in my car that night because I couldn’t even make it to a hotel..I couldn’t see to drive through the tears”

“Why didn’t you call us?” Jay asked and you smiled slightly “I didn’t have to..Greg called me about you..said he knew my temper matched yours..that a hot head needed a hot head to talk him down..I came to you Jay” he wiped the tears that had fallen from his own eyes while you spoke “That was then?” you nodded “Then I took you home to Chicago and to Greg” you cut your eyes at Mouse who wiped the tears off his face and smiled slightly “Why didn’t you stay then sweetheart?” 

You shrugged “I wasn’t ready..you two already loved me..you looked at me like I was a fucking savior or something..I couldn’t stand it..couldn’t risk letting you love me” Jay gently brushed his thumb along your chin “Tell us what happened next..please..you’ve never gotten it out”

__________________

You swallowed hard “I went to stay with Katie..she tried so hard to help me but she didn’t know how. It was just so quiet there and you two weren’t there…no one I knew was besides Katie and I didn’t want to leave her place, the town was so small everyone knew everyone… the and I quote lady soldier got stared at every time I went to get a fucking dr pepper…so I started buying liquor instead..give em something to look at..that night..I just stood there on that cliff side looking down and thinking I could end everything…no more pain…no more hurt…I wouldn’t be broken any more” 

You turned into Mouse’s chest and felt Jay tuck you back against his chest, his chin touching where your scars were even through your shirt. You took a deep breath before saying “I knew I couldn’t do it without hearing your voices one more time but when I actually talked to you it broke me out of that headspace because my only thought then was that I wouldn’t be ending the pain I would just be transferring it from me to the two of you and how could I call myself a healer or someone who loved you two and do that? I hung up with you  and called Katie to come to me because by then I couldn’t walk on my own from the cold. She took me to the hospital”

You heard them both sniffling and knew they were crying too. You’d never told them everything. This was a new level of openness even for you.  “I love you two with everything I have. When I say that I mean it. You got me off my knees and made me fight without even being there” you whispered and felt Jay press a kiss to your shoulder before Mouse pressed a kiss to the top of your head “Just returning the favor for all the times you’ve saved us”

“I’m not ready to go back to how we were. I’m staying in here, I’m keeping my stuff in my duffle but the door will stay unlocked” you promised and they both nodded “Thank you” Mouse said and Jay added “So much”

You looked from one to the other and smiled slightly “I need a bath. I’m not gonna lock the door because I trust you to give me privacy but in case you get worried you can crack it and talk to me, ok?” they both nodded “Ok” 

They untangled their arms from around you and stood up out of the bed. You watched them walk out of the room and before they made it out of the door you said “I love you, both of you” and saw their shoulders loosen before they both looked over their shoulders and smiled “We love you too” “Always”

You were almost through with your bath when one of the guys knocked at the door. “Yeah?” you called out and Mouse popped his head in, holding one hand over his eyes and a towel with the other “I um got this out the dryer so it's nice and warm for you” you laughed lightly at the fact that he wasn’t looking for your privacy sake despite that he probably knew your body better than you “Thank you Greg” you told him and he smiled big enough his dimples shone “You’re welcome love” then stepped out. 

_____________

You were getting dried off when there was another knock at the door. “Yeah?” you called out and this time Jay popped his head in with one hand over his eyes “Do you want lunch?” you laughed lightly again “Sure, I have to meet Ethan at two” he nodded “Ok, delivery or go out?” “Delivery would be good” you replied and he stepped out.

You finished drying off and got dressed before walking out of the bathroom. You could hear Jay and Mouse in the living room so you headed that way. Jay was in the recliner he loved and Mouse was on the couch “Don’t you two need some sleep?” Jay shrugged “We’ll take a nap when you go meet Ethan” you shook your head “My soldiers” Mouse grinned “You always said don’t stand between a medic and her soldiers, it goes both ways”

You sat down on the other end of the couch and nodded to the remote “Turn something on, its too quiet”

Jay and Mouse knew that you hadn’t fallen apart overnight and you weren’t going to get back out of that hole overnight. The thing was? They were now holding their hands down to give you a way up.

They started doing everything they should’ve always been doing. Either of them get time during the day? They’re stopping by med with your favorite snacks and drinks because god knows you weren’t gonna slow down during the day. They enlisted Will to have on speed dial to know what kind of day you’d had so they know what you needed from them at home, hell they’d even begged Erin to find out if you needed or wanted anything you hadn’t told them. When they’d gone to her she’d smiled and called them both “Good boys” but they’d gladly taken it because she agreed to help them.

A month passed and you were making small steps in your recovery. The nightmares were slowing slightly. Your appetite was beginning to return. You woke up most mornings to your scrubs laid out, a towel laid out, coffee made and breakfast waiting. You told them you didn’t need to be waited on hand on foot but they didn’t seem to care. Hell you hadn’t even pumped your own gas in the last three weeks. One of them would take your car to the station once a week and fill it up just so you wouldn’t have to.

The first time you texted them during the day Erin had sent you a picture of them both grinning at their phones with the caption Ok they’re idiots but they’re kinda adorable over you babe

That night you’d hung your dog tags back up with theirs and hadn’t said anything to see how long it’d take them to notice. They both walked out of the room and hugged you first thing since you told them hugs were fine but you weren’t ready for anything else yet.

At three months you had a bad nightmare. It was the one where you didn’t get them out of the humvee. They both used a sick day to be able to go to a meeting with you then spent the day with you. They were doing everything they could and then some. You didn’t need a big show, you just needed little signs that they loved you. Communication was always big for you and now you three talked about everything. Whether it was bitching about work or talking about bad memories you wanted the three of you to share the good, bad and ugly and you were now.

When you put your clothes back in your dresser they both asked you if you were sure and when you told them you were they’d practically melted, hugging you and thanking you. They did that alot. They not only told you they loved you, they thanked you for loving them, like it was something that hadn’t come so damn natural to you.

____________

At about Five and a half months Will called Jay one day while he and Mouse were at work. At first both men had panicked,worrying something was wrong with you but it was Ethan wanting to talk to them “Is she relapsing?” Mouse asked once they were in the privacy of the tech room and Ethan laughed lightly “No, she’s doing great. I know Will’s told you two but I wanted to repeat that she’s smiling again, her light’s slowly coming back. She needed help carrying that weight and as her friend I’m damn glad she has two of you to help her. Good job soldiers” they both practically fucking preened at that. No other compliment came as big as that they were being good to you.

 Six months had passed since everything and you had initially intended to ask Jay and Mouse an important question but you were too exhausted to mentally put that effort forth when you got off. When you put your key in the lock and it turned you were worried at first until you pushed the door open and Mouse was sitting on the couch. You looked at him then leaned back out looking for the truck “Where’s Jay?”

“Unit was finishing up some stuff so I got a ride home with Platt so I’d be here when you got home” he replied with a smile. You felt your entire body sag as you dropped all of your stuff on the floor and kicked your shoes off before walking over to the couch and crawling up to put your head in his lap. 

You heard him take a deep breath before he gently took your clip out and started playing with your hair before asking “Do you wanna talk or just lay here sweetheart?” you started telling him about your day and he’d ask questions every now and then, just what you needed. When you were finally done venting he smiled down at you “Do you need anything?” you shook your head “Just you, well and Jay whenever he gets his ass home” he laughed lightly “He just texted he should be home soon” you smiled “Good then just hold me please” “For as long as you want me to” he replied with a soft smile.

____________

You’d nearly dozed off when the sound of the door opening stirred you. Jay walked in carrying out take out bags and flowers. You sat up and he held the flowers out “I got these for you princess..they um reminded me of you” 

You looked from him to Mouse, seeing them share a smile as you took the flowers “Thank you Jay” you looked over the bouquet and laughed lightly when you realized why they reminded him of you. They were shades of red and orange roses. The bouquet looked like a fireball of flowers. You stood up and pulled him down into a hug “I love you” he ducked his head down into the bend of your neck “I love you too”

When he pulled back from the hug you looked up at him and smiled before pulling him down closer to brush your lips against his in a gentle kiss. When you pulled away the smile on his face was nothing short of gorgeous. “Can we eat now?” you asked and he nodded “Whatever you want baby”

You turned to offer Mouse a hand up and when he stood up you pulled him down to you and smiled right before catching his lips in a soft kiss. You pulled away and caught a flash of dimples as he said “I love you so much”

___________

Mouse sat on the counter, long legs dangling as he watched you grin at Jay as you asked him to dance with you. “Princess, really?” Jay groaned playfully so he raised his hand “Sweetheart I’ll dance with you if the grump doesn’t want to” and that earned him a glare from Jay “You got to cuddle with her for like an hour or better back off” 

He pulled you into his arms and started swaying to the music as you smiled “Can I have my ring back?” Jay nearly stumbled over his own feet “What?” you stopped moving and looked from one to the other “If that’s ok?” Mouse hopped off the counter and ran to the master bedroom before you ever got through talking. He came sliding back it and grinned at Jay who grabbed your left hand “Thought you’d never ask”

They both kneeled in front of you and you couldn’t help but laugh as they both worked together to slip your ring onto your finger. When they stood up they pulled you into their arms, your head against Mouse’s chest and your back against Jay’s. You leaned your head back to look up at Jay and he smiled as you felt Mouse kiss over your pulse point “I love you two” “We love you” Jay said and Mouse added “And your fight is forever our fight”

@desimarie12

@alterna123

@nevaehstreater18

@allisonargent144

@fifitheragertot

[starryknight565]

OUGH THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK TO IT

imagine being a shy little intern at jujutsu high and getting the fattest crush on gojo because he’s just. so strong and cool. you idolize him. you want to be his friend. and he seems to take a liking to you; he’s cheery and encouraging and sweet in a roundabout way. you feel like you’ve grown pretty close to him.

imagine him falling asleep right next to you on a sofa in the cafeteria. you can barely tell, with his blindfold still on. but you scurry away to find a blanket, happy that he trusts you enough to rest in your proximity, ready to wrap it around him —

only for it to slip right off. rejected by his infinity.

(he never turns it off, around you.)

[screampied]

#WANNA PLAY PSYCHO KILLER? t. fushiguro

☆ sum. you know girl, usually when someone’s about to get stabbed, they scream—not moan. ghostface is supposed to be scary, intimidating, terrifying. but what happens when he’s tall, hot, and has a scar that runs down the right side of his lip? maybe his motive this time was to make you scream out his name in another way. welcome to act three.

wc. 7.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface!toji, pwp, roleplay, unprotected, slight dacryphīlia, glove / mask kink, scream spoilers + references, dumbification, knīfe play, biting, he's crazy but your pússy's crazier, fīngering, riding his face mask, hair pulling, first time squīrt, cunnīlingus, pússy drunk toji, spīt, praise, dirty talk, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist.

“now girl, what the fuck was that,” a husky voice that sounds a bit muffled murmurs out to you. you’re laid on the ground, quite literally seeing the life flash before your eyes as the edge of his jagged knife glimmers against the ceiling light. peeking one open, you’re met with the covered soulless eyes of an infamous ghostface mask, and he’s tilting his head at you. “did i hear ya right?”

as he hovers over you, you speak in a breathy voice. growing sheepish, you glance away. “um, hear what?”

“you moaned, doll,” he replies, and the cottony flaps of his costume brush against your skin the closer he gets. as the coolly aerating air turns dead silent for a few moments, you could hear the sounds of his irregular breaths – deep sinister breaths . . and for some reason, it makes your thighs clench, and not in fear. “right as i said i was gonna gut ya like a fish,” and your own breathing hitched once his gloved finger strokes down your lip. “and i put the knife riiiiiight down here,” he slowly drags the prop down your nearly torn top, “you moaned right as i was about to strike. why?”

“i think . . you’re hearing things,” you rub the back of your neck, but you left off yet another moan the second he slides a knee between your legs.

“nah,” the masked man jibes, and it’s as if he’s staring right through your clothes. with a gloved hand he pulls up his mask, only showing part of his face. he pulls it down inches below his nose as you glance at his scarred lips that show. “think i heard quite well, princess,” and he slowly grazes the soft end of the knife further and further down your skin. “besides, like i said earlier. . i wanna play a game—and we can start with me asking,” and he pauses, leaning up close to your shell of your ear, warm breath tickling against your lobe. “you’re not wearing panties right now, are ya, princess?”

right at his words—your thighs stuck together and you felt a shiver run down your spine. it’s cold, and it made your eyebrow twitch at how insanely turned on you were.

usually, most people would scream or run—hell, even fight back. but it’s different when it’s you.

as he continued to straddle over you, you could have sworn you saw this movie before. .

and now, here you were—helpless indeed and on the floor as he hovers his weight over you, waving a his knife—(a knife that looks like a sort of cheap knockoff version of the one michael myers walks around with) in your face while his other hand mockingly cups your cheek.

“and if i’m not?” you mumble, fixating your eyes solely on the hole parts that shield his eyes.

it’s like you were staring at empty black voids, and no matter how hard you squinted – you just couldn’t see him at all. all you could make out was white and black plastic mask, and as he tilts his head again, he’s returning the gaze. fuck, each time he head tilts and cocks his head to a certain degree—it’s like he’s challenging you, taunting you even, and you’d constantly feel your thighs squeeze together tighter and tighter.

“ah, well,” he thinks for a moment, feeling his covered eyes bore at your body. in his mind, you looked so pretty sprawled all out and underneath him. with your chest heaving in and out as he continues to strum his gloved fingers down your exposed skin, he hums.

“maybe i’d just have ‘ta take a look for myself,” and your breath hitches again once he slowly drags the whetted edge of the knife down your polka dot blouse. with a loud tearing ‘shiiiiek’, a few of your buttons go loose as he’s easily dividing through the fabric with the blade. “cute, i’m assuming you’re not wearin’ a bra either,” and you felt yourself throb the moment he pauses his hands, staring at your perked tits. “phew,” he whistles, giving your pretty physique a nice three second stare. “nice rack.”

“you . . aren’t gonna—”

“—what, kill ya? oh, no doll. now that wouldn’t be fun,” he purrs, finishing your sentence.

it was almost embarrassing at how your body responded to him. you didn’t just wanted more, you craved it. staring right back at you were those same dark holes of a mask that you desperately wanted to see his true identity.

just who was he?

but judging from his voice though, it was a raspy low. . somewhat sounding of a way of smoker would speak. the voice sounded a bit older and of course—he had the body shape of a fucking tank.

as he lets off a low sigh, he shrugs his broad shoulders. “you’re too pretty for that. besides, i’m hard ‘n that little moan you did nearly ruined me if i’m bein’ honest.”

as a small impish smile forms against your glossed pursed lips, your nerves lessen. you stare up at the man before exhaling slight sudden relief. so you were gonna be in the sequel, score.

“so . . . what, is this the part where i’m supposed to beg for my life, mr. ghostface?” you had nothing really to lose, so why not play around with him for a bit – reverse psychology.

“actually,” he clicks his tongue, swiping a thumb down the keen edge of his dagger. it’s an eerie dead pause that whistles in the air once his gloved hands brush against your skin before he continues.

“this would be the part where you scream,” and as he presses his mask all the way against face, he’s so close that you get a glimpse of his scarred lips that poke underneath the cover. “but fuck it. since y’er not scared yet, guess i’ll have ‘ta get that heart racin’ one way or another.”

and toji—who was apparently his name, does this in no other way but propping himself right between your legs.

long story short, everything escalated quickly. so quickly that one minute you were on the floor quote and quote “fearing” for your life and the next . . ? you find yourself being tossed on your velveteen cushioned sofa, voluntarily spreading your legs out for him like some slut out of a cheesy predictable horror movie.

if you were being completely honest, the real killer was his tongue . . because for the life of you, you just couldn’t get over how sloppy he moved it in different directions.

toji kept his mask on the entire time, but it’s pulled up just a tad bit to where you’re only getting a tiny glimpse of the lower part of his face. the fabric just barely shields the bottom part of his nose as his scarred thin lips press their way against your sopping folds.

“fuuuck,” you’d whimper, preferring this over death any day.

right away, you spot the scar that slashes straight down the right side of his lip and it’s a small but attractive feature. every few seconds, he’d purposely smear that part of his mouth against your cunt, earning out a candied ‘ooh!’ from you. within seconds, your numbed thighs were already starting to stick together – like glue.

letting off a sharp drawn out gasp, you glance near your nightstand and the alarm that sits above it. the time was a quarter past two . . and well, some would ask how you’d even get yourself in this situation.

truth is, you didn’t really know either but you damn sure weren’t exactly complaining either. toji found you a bit strange though.

usually people would run from him but you . . you moaned right as you were about to meet your maker. weird, and he’s heard countless screams but never once like yours. that’s kind of because yours wasn’t even a scream, it was a literal moan.

and he wanted to hear more and more of it.

it intrigued him – you intrigued him, and he sort of wants to make you scream in a whole other way though, especially since he’s got you right where he wants. sprawled all out, legs fucking spread . .

“do you . . have to keep this stupid thing on?” you breathlessly grouse, a cute pout curling against your lips as your hands grab the top of his head.

it sort of irked you how he kept his ghostface mask on the entire duration he’s positioned between your legs. with a tight grip, you yank him forward and he groans against your cunt. toji peppers sloppy kisses against your pudgy folds before staring up at you, a faint smirk twisting against his own lips. huffing out an annoyed exhale, you grump. “ ‘s not like ‘m gonna turn you in or anything. i never even found ghostface scary anywa—”

toji snickers. “yeahhh, right,” and you shiver, watching with low hooded eyes as he gathers a glossy string of spit in his mouth.

as your legs quivered from the single grip of one of his hands, he spits right on your teary pussy, watching the lustrous trail of slime drag down his chin. “i’ll think about it,” and he laps his own mess right up, dexterously creating nasty slosh sounds with his exaggerated smacking lips.

with a teasing pat of his gloved hand, he smears the slick puddle that rests on your entrance before humming. “cute, seems like y’er pussy’s tryna seduce me though.”

you let off a whimper, not knowing how long your legs could remain open as he’s toying with your clit. fat clothed fingers drag their way down your slobbering cunt, drawing various circles and shapes around your knobbling nub as a breath snatches from your full lungs. “s- shit, spit on it ‘s more,” you’d weep, feeling your own lips part into a curling ‘o’ shape as you’re in carnal awe.

“now, doll,” he’d whisper against your folds, slurping you clean and savoring the taste of your bittersweet fervor on his tongue.

toji brings two thick fingers toward the outer part of your clit before it slowly starts to disappear inside. it’s like a magic trick — you watch them slowly disintegrate inside of your sopping cunt and you whimper, feeling them curl their ways inside.

as he’s preparing to pump both digits inside, your tummy caves in and you let off a sweet moan the second his long digits start to scissor inside of you. “since ‘m gonna spare ya, i think it’s time we set some ground rules,” and as his hot breath continues to fan against your twitching sex—your grip tightens near the top part of his mask. “don’t tell me how to eat, yeah?”

a timid whimper was your response and you watch how his lips carve into a haughty smile. with a second thought, toji spanks your cunt and he hums, hearing the wet back-talking chatter of squelches leave from your pussy.

as you’re twitching and pulsating from the tender stimulation—you feel him starting to lay his long tongue flat. starting from bottom to top, he eats out your cunt as if it was served to him on a silver fucking platter. “afraid ‘m gonna need an answer, little girl.”

“y- yes,” you let off a soft shrilling gasp, feeling his callused fingertips prod deep inside your gummy clenching walls. toji’s gloved digits felt scorchingly warm inside you, and with just a swift motion, he twirls them ‘round and ‘round, barreling each long inch inside of your pretty pussy.

god, if his fingers were this long, you only imagined imagined what his dick would feel like. the feeling alone made your stomach flutter uncontrollably as your teeth sink into the skin coating your bottom lip.

this was bad, this was really really bad . .

you were probably breaking every cliche horror movie rule in the book . . or in this case, the script. you were supposed to run, not open your legs. but, what’s the saying? you only live once, and that’s if you survive his tongue.

toji was ruthless.

his head moves back and forth as he munched on your pussy, playfully nipping the pearly edges teeth against your clit. each time he does that, you’re sensitive and you whine out a sweet battle cry, rutting your hips further into his greedy slick mouth. your legs nearly suffocated him but he didn’t care, and each long stripe that he creates with his sticky tongue earns out a bundle of whiny whimpers from you.

you had no panties on, and he was basically eating you out with nothing but a skirt that’s pulled up toward your waist—clinging against your jerking, active hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you abruptly gasp, feeling your legs already starting to weaken.

by this point, he’s not even eating your pussy anymore, he’s damn near making out with it. toji’s making out with your pussy – with tongue, and lots lots of it.

he’s creating darting motions with the pointed tip of his tongue, barely batting a single lash of an eye that his chin’s starting to glimmer with sheeny slick. your sheeny slick. as you occasionally look down, you only see that same part of his face that’s shown—but it makes you throb regardless, just imagining just what he really looked like.

you knew he was tall—that much was apparent, a strong burly build and a cocky persona to match.

“yeah? give it to me then,” he interrupts your thoughts as a wolffish grin spreads across his lips like butter.

toji’s thick fingers resume to mercilessly plummet in and out of you and he feels his jaw locking. your taste—he couldn’t get enough of it, and pretty soon he’s the epitome of pussy drunk.

you tasted so sweet, and you let off a whimper once he pulls up his mask just a little bit further. “heh,” he huffs out, and he stops it just at the hem of his button shaped nose. as that same wry smirk compresses against his lips, you spot his dimples stretching out near the corners. leaning all the way in, toji gives your cunt a three second sniff before cupping his lips over your pulsating cunt. “mmph—actually, hold on doll.”

as you’re panting heavily, a look of confusion marinates against your features once you watch him prepare to take off his mask. with a bubbly ‘pop’, toji slowly slides his fingers out of you before glancing at your impatient face.

“ah ah, close ‘em,” he clicks his tongue, watching your pretty clit twitch at his demand.

you pout, feeling a brief sting as you’re being delayed of your long awaited release. with a cute sigh, you place a hand over eyes, your vision turning completely dark. “good girl . . now,” he huffs lowly, and you hear a bit of shuffling. toji sits you up and you feel something place underneath your legs. his voice was close, and it sounds like he’s near the side of you. “cum on my mask, pretty girl. can ya do that for me?”

“uh, okay,” you shakily reply, feeling him prop up your hips to sit right up against the ghostly mouth part. it’s eerily carved into a long hanging oval shape and you moan—feeling how warm it was from the front. it makes you pulse, knowing that his mouth was just behind that exact spot a few seconds ago.

even though your eyes were still covered with your own hand, you feel a daunting chill run down your spine yet again, sensing his cold haunting presence.

whoever he was, he was watching you right now, get off . . on his mask.

you let off a quiet moan as your hips started to rut against the propped plastic. you were drenched, and a bit of slick sticks down against your thighs.

toji feels his dick strain in his ripped jeans as he openly stares like a stalker — pretty, you looked so pretty like this. grinding your sweet cunt against the mask he wears on a daily. now that he thinks about it, it’d be a pretty good souvenir.

“touch yourself too,” he’d rasp, kneeling down closer to you. toji gets behind you, and you whimper once you feel the frigid edge of his knife slowly drag down your skin. he starts a trail, and he’s safe surprisingly—making sure to not nip your skin, but it’s close enough to where you feel the coldness of the steel.

as your needy whines pitch louder, you find yourself now guiding a hand near your bouncing breasts. a bit of the ripped fabric of your blouse runs against your fingertips and toji feels himself getting more hard just watching you. “yeah, baby. that’s it. get my fuckin’ mask wet so i can taste it after.”

“tojiiii, ‘m cumming—fuck,” and as he’s got one of his own hands grabbing onto your left tit, you end up finishing.

you’re cutely hysterical, creaming all on the mouth part of his mask as shame swells in your chest. “ngh, fuck fuck.” you babble, your thighs submitting defeat as he pulls you back against his chest. it felt hard, and you couldn’t help but imagine how built he probably was.

toji presses a cold kiss near the left side of your neck. his frigid lips makes you whimper as your head tilts to the left.

his touch . . you only wanted more, and he could tell from the way that the hand that was at first cupping your breast now starts to reach toward his wrist. “atta girl,” he whispers, and right as you were about to remove your other hand off your eyes, he places his own back over your face. “nice try, sweetheart. gotta be patient.”

you continue to pout, and toji slides the drenched front part of his mask from underneath your legs and brings it up to his lips. “mhm, would ya look at that,” and as you’re panting on his chest, still frantic from your recent orgasm, you hear him cleaning it off with his tongue.

he trails his tongue to where your cunt sat against the mouth part, lapping it up and relishes in your sweet taste entirely. “fuck, sweetest thing i’ve had in a while.”

you dig your nails into his thigh as you’re trying to get over your high, speaking in a needy voice.

“t.. toji,” and he finds it cute how you’re speaking through gritted teeth. he could tell you were annoyed with him, how you weren’t fond of his teasing at all.

“hm, what is it?” he replies, giving his mask a satisfied glance once he finishes. it shines in the dim light—and he licks his lips as the right side of his mouth twitches into a devious simper.

“can . . can i have a kiss?” and the words came out of your mouth oh so sweetly.

you don’t know what came over you, but your body was just fed up. something was screaming at you, hollering at you to get a taste. you throbbed, secretly yearning to feel his lips crash on yours. the entire time he was buried between your legs, it was all you thought about, constantly.

toji hums, tilting his head as he faces you. “a kiss, huh?” and he’s still got a hand covering your eyes.

he ponders about it for a while before a low guffaw leaves from his thin lips. “aw, you want a taste of yourself too, don’t you dirty girl?” and once you shamelessly nod in response, toji’s shoulders drop. “fine, you’ll get that kiss. c’mere,”

and you could feel him inching closer and closer closer. toji’s cologne was loud—it’s a manly musk of what you think was rosemary and cedarwood.

it practically blinds the insides of your flared nostrils the more he closes the awkward distance between you both. your cunt’s pulses start to quicken before he’s merely just inches away from your lips now. “stupid, stupid girl,” he pulls your bottom lip down with a gloved finger, and that’s when he stares at your pretty plump lips before whispering. “beg me.”

“i’m not gonna—”

“no beg, no fuckin’ kiss,” he cuts you off, and you grumble. it was almost embarrassing at how your pussy gave away your true dirty feelings. you continued to twitch, and you let off a defeated sigh once his smears a thumb over your wet lips.

“please . . please, kiss me,” and as you speak, he continues to softly caress the curvature of your mouth. you could hear him breathing from behind the mask. it was short raspy breaths and what would usually frighten most people, turned you on.

toji runs a hand through his jet black tresses before a cunning smirk pierces the corners of his lips. “that’s more like it,” and his lips were almost touching yours – almost, a mere breath away.

you could never get over how deep his voice. it’s as if he didn’t need a voice changer like the ones they’d always use in the movies. his was naturally just as gritty, just as husky.

“obedient . . good,” and as he playfully licks near your bottom lip, toji grunts, “mouth, open.”

you moan, feeling his hand reach between your legs, squeezing your pussy. once your lips part and your mouth opens, toji spits right inside, staring as your cute tongue tries to catch it all.

it’s quick, and before you knew it – his lips hurriedly crash onto yours. within seconds, teeth starts to clash amongst each other and you helplessly whine in his mouth. this, this was what you wanted. a kiss.

one gloved hand of his remains covered over your eyes whilst another snakes its way between your legs. toji’s rubbing against your cunt, feeling your cute hips grind against him as you try to squirm and writhe. you were still so tender. his mouth was cold, and you can’t help but moan at the literal taste of yourself washing back against your tongue.

you feel his scar that slants down the right side of his lip rub off against your lips and his lips curve into a sly smirk. “nasty girl,” he murmurs between hot kisses, and you gasp once he starts to maneuver quicker circles against your cunt.

you were soaked already, still sensitive from your recent release but that’s when he lies you back down. as you fall down on the sofa, toji deepens the kiss for a few extra seconds, abruptly pulling away. a pretty decorated string of glittery saliva tugs away from both lips and he wipes your wet mouth, snickering. “such a damn baby. got me spoilin’ you already, tch.”

he’s still got your eyes covered, but that’s right when you reach out . . not expecting your hand to grab near his hardened bulge that hides underneath his cloak.

toji pauses, staring at you before you squeeze it and he groans. “what now, doll? still not satisfied?”

“fuck me,” you murmur, but it’s more of a pathetic whine.

you didn’t care anymore—you were at your wits ends. the erotic two words and six letters easily flowed past your lips as if you were dying to say it for the longest, and in this case – you were.

toji’s amused more than anything, and he’s well aware that you’re far not like the others.

this wasn’t just a usual psycho killer versus helpless victim, this was something more . .

“strong words, baby,” he purrs against your ear, licking a stripe down your neck. toji holds your weak rickety hips in place, still shielding your eyes with his palm before showering a good part of your collarbone with a plethora of sloppy kisses.

uh oh, he was starting to get attached. already, he could feel it . . and he knew you were gonna be nothing but a fucking problem in the long run.

a problem he didn’t mind tampering with for a bit.

“say it again,” he whispers, and this time he picks up his knife once more.

it gradually tears down your blouse all the way from the center, openly staring your tits spring open. “tell me what you want me ‘ta do to you again,” and as his husky voice lowers a single octave within each coarse sentence, you squeeze your thighs together.

toji focuses the edge of his knife against your skin and you shiver, feeling it softly brush against the bristles of hair that coat your skin.

the thing that pissed him off though was that you weren’t even scared of him . . no, far from it actually.

you were aroused—hell, maybe even just as crazy as him.

“fuck me, toji.” you repeat, taking it upon yourself to grab the handle of the knife. he raises a brow as he watches, and you bring the wooden end up to your lips, deciding to be a tease and lowering your mouth down it. toji huffs, growing annoyed at your audacity — but fuck, he’s into it.

and all he’s imagining at the moment is your pretty lips that’s wrapped around the handle of his knife being wrapped around his dick instead. you start sucking on it until it taps near the scaled back of your throat, reaching past the roof of your mouth and he scoffs.

brat.

“got some nerve, suckin’ on my damn knife, girl,” and he snatches it away, softly turning you around, pushing you near the right arm of the couch.

you gasp, feeling him swat a hand against your bare ass before he grabs your hips. his movements were so fast that you could barely keep up let alone react. “fine, i’ll fuck you,” and he’s not covering your eyes anymore.

right as you were about to turn around, toji grabs the back of your neck with a gloved hand, tittering. “don’t try me. eyes forward, head down,” and you moan, feeling him pick your hips up—making your rear grind and jostle against his hardening bulge. “ass. fuckin’. up.”

you kiss your teeth, feeling another breath of air leave out your lungs before you whine. toji’s rough, and he’s got a firm grip against your waist before springing out his dick. he grunts, rolling his eyes as he watches you impatiently wriggle your ass, hoping he’d hurry up already.

“can’t wait, can ya baby?” he utters, stroking his length.

as a thumb of his nearly grazes his throbbing vein, his eyes gaze toward your sopping creamy pussy. all wet, and just for him. the antagonizing wait for him to just fuck you like you wanted became almost unbearable, and the second you feel his tip side-swipe against the entrance of your cunt it was over.

a swollen fat tip smacks vigorously against your pussy, and one smack turns into two, then three, then four. .

as he’s slapping his mushroomy cockhead against your drooling pool of heat, you hear a low chortle from behind you. “god, she’s a fuckin’ wet one, ain’t she?” and you whine, hearing yourself squelch each time his angry tip whacks against your poor soddened flaps. ‘whack’ after ‘whack’ and the sounds of his dick slapping against your pussy slowly started to clank through one ear of yours and out the other.

but doing so—the pulsing sensation between your legs only increased, and by now, you were starting to chew on your tongue.

anticipation was eating away at you as you let off a moan, cutely grumbling. “just fuck me already.”

“how ‘bout i leave you ‘n let you fuck yourself,” he snaps back, matching your sass.

oh. you weren’t really used to someone matching your energy—especially a masked man walking around in a ghostface mask but well, that’s besides the point.

toji’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around his hefty length that’s covered in lighting-like twitching veins before he groans.

he’s so fucking hard . . and the more he stares at your pretty sobbing cunt, the more he understands why. “don’t think you’d like that now though, would ya?”

“n- no,” you reply truthfully, letting off a pornographic moan once he starts to align himself between your gaping slit.

it’s fat, and you could tell from the feeling of the size of his monstrous tip alone. you sort of wished you were facing him but alas, you’d just have to use your imagination for now. “fuckk,” you breathe, already starting to feel your eyes rolling back.

the stretch, god the stretch. you thought his fingers was something but it’s nothing compared to his cock. your toes were already curling up, and oh, you knew you were fucked.

toji’s got a few curly black specks of hair that resides near his base—and as he’s slowly easing himself inside, he feels you tightening. right as you do, you feel a vein that runs down his shaft prod.

he feels it – you feel it, and you both hiss in unison. “goddamn,” he grumbles, staring as your own sappy slick starts to glue against his sculptured pelvis. tiny glimmering strands stick and tape against his skin all because of you and it’s just messy. toji smacks your ass one more time before lightly pushing your head into the satiny covered pillow. “move, move those hips or ‘m gonna pull out, doll.”

“mmph—s- so fuckin’ big,” you babble, bringing a bawled up fist into your mouth.

your sweet moans become muffled as his dick’s gradually expanding through your gummy walls, leaving his very mark with his tip. he’s rummaging through every part of you and you gasp—feeling your cunt welcome him wholly, your squelches becoming louder and louder. your tummy starts to churn the more he sinks in deeper and your lips form into a cute gasping shape. “oh, fuck. ‘s gonna break me, toji.”

“pft. don’t be dramatic doll,” he purrs, swatting another smack against your ass. the shape brief sting that only lasts for about five seconds makes you moan once your hips finally starts to move.

it takes a few lengthy seconds before with a wet ‘pop’, he bottoms out. so . . much . . girth, your empty brain was spinning cogwheels, trying to process just how could a guy be this fucking big.

your reaction to how well he stretched you of course, fueled a good portion of his highly cocky ego.

toji’s got a hooked curve too—and you feel it all. toji teasingly gives you one thrust, just one single thrust and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. it was that much power of his hips—you felt the wind get snatched out of you and the prettiest moan left from your lips.

biting down on your lip again, you’re feeling all of his hefty length massage the insides of your cunt. milliseconds shortly past before you then start to feel yourself shamelessly drooling on your split knuckles.

“fuck, fuck,” you chant in a quiet mumble, seeing nothing but inky black as your eyelids continue to flutter open and close.

toji had the kind of size that left butterflies in your tummy – a school of them to be specific, and you felt every single inch of him plummet its way inside. as you’re still babbling incoherent whimpers and whines at how snug he’s buried in you—toji starts to move faster with you.

with two hands, he holds you in place. darkened brows of his crease into a furrow as he sighs. “mhm, atta girl. see, look at you,” and you could hear the playful sarcasm seeping off his tone.

“takin’ it like a fuckin’—champ,” and right at that last word of his sentence, he starts to roll his hips just a bit quicker.

toji tries to match your berserk movement with his own hips, but he ends up beating your pace entirely. you’re trying to keep up but failing miserably and it’s just so cute. . but your face probably wasn’t as cute.

you probably looked a sight—mouth all open, jaw dropped and dangling, eyes bulging, pathetically drooling for more and more and . . you get it.

“hng, harder. fuck me,” you whine, the sound of skin and hips clashing repeating in your ears.

your sloppy cunt’s soaking him from the back, and his backshots were just brutal – killer.

each thrust serves its purpose every time and you’re left speechless. after a while, both bodies start to move rhythmically as your jaw’s just dangling.

damn, randy meeks would be shaking his head, tossing ‘n turning in his grave if he saw this.

under no circumstances . . never ever fuck the masked killer, and yet here you were.

but, who gives a fuck about movies?

you didn’t—not really, and when he had a mean stroke game like toji, you weren’t the type to complain. he’s hitting you deep with his fat splitting tip, filthily cruising his hips into you at such precise vigor until you’re just spouting a whole load of nothin’.

“ugh, right there. right fuckin’ there, fuck,” and you let off a cooing mewl once toji’s hand wraps around your throat.

with a few fingers, he gives you a safe squeeze that earns out a faint gasping croak from the back of your throat. toji uses your neck as leverage as he’s pounding into you rawly, ravaging your insides and all. your pearled clit’s repeatedly getting hit with his plump crown and you gasp, squeaking loudly once he taps against your precious g-spot.

all of a sudden, your brain’s fuzzy and you’re seeing stars—somewhat like a cartoon character. you were silly, literally being fucked silly. “fuuuck!” and it catches you by surprise.

once he reaches past that cute ‘lil spongey barrier of yours, it was over.

you were pronounced dead—dead from cock, and pretty soon you were starting to feel yourself go into a lewd white fantasm for a few seconds.

you’re dumb, dumbly fucked stupid from his sloppy enticing hits that you could barely speak coherently. it felt good, it felt so fucking good, and as you feel his heavy base slam back into you again and again, you start to moan. “yeah, i know, i know, baby,” toji huffs, and your cunt’s just addictive. your walls cling onto him tightly, hugging around him like a vice—threatening to never let go.

your sheer sweltering warmth from the inside makes his head slightly toss back to a certain degree and it’s sexy. if only you were to see it. “god, clampin’ down on me so good. work those hips baby, yeah. give me a fuckin’ show.”

as you try to match his crazed tempo. . eventually, you start to feel a tender feeling arise in the lower part of your tummy.

its familiar, and you can recognize that hot brewing sensation from anywhere. you’re close, and as wanton shrilling whines continue to drag away from your lips you start to spasm.

“fuuucck, toji something’s coming,” you whimper, dragging out your words, and you don’t think it was a regular orgasm.

it was far different . . the feeling was equivalent to someone harshly pressing a palm down on your stomach. your eyes squeeze shut before you repeat yourself through quivering glossed lips. “toji, ‘m gonna—”

“yeah yeah, i heard ya,” he maunders, and he’s feeling himself reaching his inevitable peak too.

it doesn’t take long before he feels the undersides of his meaty thighs starting to burn with hot intensity. toji’s fat cock continues to drag in and out of your goopy walls, hearing you squelch over and over him and he snarls. “fuck,” and he punctuates his thrusts, watching as your ass swiftly slams back into him at such speed. his abs that hide underneath his dark cloak tensing. “same time, baby. finish with me.”

“o.. okay,” you moan, and he’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around your throat the entire time. a thumb of his caresses down your nape, humming at your pretty twitching body underneath him.

it’s a sight he’d love to get used to.

as you’re both chasing your delirious orgasmic peaks—toji presents to your cunt one final thrust that sends your entire body into a crazed stupefied state. your plush cheek near the left side of your face smushes against the pillow before you whimper, starting to feel yourself spritz on him.

your eyes widen as it happens. a spraying geyser shoots out you as you let go—and oh, you’re soaking toji right with you, glossing his entire cock from the base down.

“oh my god, fuck, fuh—fuck!” you sob in craving pleasure, flapping eyelids sticking together from the pretty glassy tears that start to form. so good, it’s a feeling you’ve never felt before and you felt like a weight was gradually being lifted off your shoulders . . including your sweet pussy.

toji finishes seconds later and he groans, stilling his hips against you. creamy velvety bundles of ribbons pours into your cunt and he lets off a low growl. “fuck,” and his hand smacks against your ass again for the nth time.

you felt warm as he’s continuing to spill such a mass amount whilst at the exact same time, you’re drenching his cock – putting faucets to shame at just how damn wet you were.

toji’s cock eventually turns flaccid and soft as his tip and peeled frenulum spits a good amount, watching your body limp underneath him.

with a sly exhausted grin stretching across his scarred lips, he traces his fingers down your spine. “my, oh my,” and you whine, finally finishing. toji stares at your body, feeling you weakly writhe your hips before finally submitting defeat. “did you jus . . fuckin’ squirt on me, pretty girl?”

you did,

and you end up dampening up the cushions of your burgundy colored sofa in the process. you felt like you were floating, panting and heaving ridiculously like a dog. toji brings his hips to a sudden stop, gazing at the ivory wads and ropes of cum that fill inside of your cunt.

slowly but surely . . it starts to race down the crevices of your thighs, splotches of white splattering against your skin. in a dirty, filthy way, it’s pretty – in toji’s mind at least.

he luxuriated at the sight of you all fucked out and speechless. not a word came from your lips except for the occasional whimpers and moaning sobs that would tear out your throat. you were still arched over, moaning once you feel him slowly starting to pull out. “ain’t that a pretty sight,” he rasps, hearing his cock sweetly ‘pop’ out of your creamy fat folds.

you’re oozing out with so so much of his gooey lush cum and it makes him licks his lips. you looked delicious, and he couldn’t help but swipe a finger down your runny cunt, bringing his eager digit up to his lips just to get a taste for himself.

toji was a nasty man—but with the way you tasted, he was even nastier.

as he licks his gloved finger that contains the concoction mess of both sappy liquids, he hums in amusement. “mhm,” and as his leafy viridescent colored eyes linger down towards your cunt, he smears his leaky tip over your pussy.

toji grunts, making sure to paint the entirety of your entrance with his pasty cum that sobs down parched folds. “good girl, good . . fuckin’ girl.”

toji stays like that for a while, and it’s only after an abrupt pausing moment that he makes you turn around to face him. he makes you lie flat on your back, and there, you’re met with the eyes of a handsome smug man. his features were as sly as his attitude, and his ruffled black hair was naturally messy.

“surprise,” he mutters, and you intake a breath once he gets on top of you again. toji doesn’t have the mask on anymore—but he still has on the costume part, a ghoulish black cloak that had slits near the edges of his sleeves. “scared yet?”

“not . . really,” you sheepishly say, slowly trailing your eyes down his body.

squinting just enough, you saw right through the outline of his muscular frame. he was fucking ripped, and you felt yourself throb the moment you started to imagine him wrapping those big burly arms around your—

“figures,” he scoffs, though his tone’s a bit more playful than annoyed. toji runs a big veiny hand through his hair before bringing his watch up to his face. wrinkling his nose, he hums. “gotta run, doll. ‘s been fun.”

a pout pulls against both sides of your lips as he says he has to depart. sure, you didn’t exactly expect him to stay . . well who were you kidding, you sort of did. but you knew he had to go.

your thighs stick together as he remains on top of you, watching him pull his mask back on. with a slightly worn out voice, you murmur. “you can’t stay?”

“no, i can’t stay,” he snickers, knowing you wanted more. toji’s head friskily tilts as you stare at him with a cute doe-eyed expression, still pouting and he rolls his eyes behind the mask. “god, fine. greedy little thing aren’t ‘cha?”

and you hear a bit of shuffling, watching him fish a hand in his pocket as his jeans were now pulled up and made presentable again. toji grabs a sharpie out of his pocket before pulling your waist closer toward him. “tsk. stay still,” and you’re curious to what he was about to do, not daring to move an inch.

you’re all bare and exposed, and you let off a soft exhale once he starts to write something right below your belly button. just a few more inches down and he’d be writing on your pussy.

it lasts for about seven seconds before he stops, adding a heart near the end of what was a ten digit phone number.

“alright, princess. here’s my number. whenever you’re feelin’ horny, just give me a call, yeah?”

and before you could even reply, he leans up to you—pulling up his ghostface mask over his lips, giving you a long teasing kiss. you moan into his mouth, smelling a scent of his cologne before he leisurely pulls away. toji whispers against your lips for one final time before pressing a thumb toward your throat.

“i’ll always come back.”

[cherienymphe]

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.

♱

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”

The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.

You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…

“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”

Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.

The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?

“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”

You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.

Father Mayhew.

“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.

“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“...will never be accepted.”

You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you. 

Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.

You struggled to swallow.

“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”

You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.

“It’s…discouraging.”

You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.

…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.

He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.

You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.

Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.

“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”

You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.

“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”

His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”

At that, you did smile.

You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.

You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.

It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.

Even if many would not agree.

You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.

It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.

Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…

…because he looked at you different.

It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.

You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.

That is why he watches you, you told yourself.

No other reason. 

“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”

The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you. 

“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”

He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation. 

He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.

“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.

You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.

“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”

He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.

“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”

He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…

His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.

“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.

“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”

You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.

No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.

An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.

You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.

No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.

Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.

“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.

He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.

“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.

He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.

Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.

“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”

You couldn’t stop your smile at his words

“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”

You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”

At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.

“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”

Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.

“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.

“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”

You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.

“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”

At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.

“Why?”

“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”

His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.

“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”

You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.

“What memories they must have of you…”

You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…

You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?

“Father, I think you should-.”

“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”

You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.

“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements. 

You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.

“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”

You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.

“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”

Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.

“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”

You blinked, and a few tears escaped.

“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”

He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.

“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”

You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.

“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”

His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.

“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”

When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.

“We are…and always will be…sinners…”

Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.

Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.

When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s—Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.

You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…

…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.

Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.

You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.

“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”

You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.

“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”

He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.

“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.

The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.

When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.

With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.

“I want you just as eager to get on your knees for me…”

[uglygirltrying]

wolf-hybrid!simon x bunny-hybrid!reader | PT2 | pt1 | pt3 |

he did show you. it was so much warmer, than in your burrow.

it was easy to feel safe and warm enough, in his big arms, to eventually fall asleep. even if he was the hunter, your natural predator, you were basking in a warm hole, filled with his musk. your head went mush and fuzzy, eyes fluttering shut.

the wolf grinned and chuckled above you. what a silly bunny. your legs twitched, as you slowly went under. so compliant, no arguing when he took you, and you so easily went limp in his arms.

oh, you were going to be so much fun when the spring comes. maybe you'd be even more submissive, or on the other hand, maybe you'd get snappy. that'd be fun, simon thought.

he can already imagine the little bunny in heat, constantly rubbing against him, begging for a litter. if he feels nice, he might even give you one. simon smirks at the thought. such a sweet thing you are.

simon felt reluctant to leave. what if you ran? well, he would surely find you, after breathing your scent in so much. but still, it would be a lot of trouble, to track you, and catch you again. he didn't want to go through all of that trouble. he didn't want you to run.

simon signed. he had to find food. some meat for himself, and maybe some bark for you. but he knew that you didn't have a strong enough reason to stay. a warm den? you surely could find another one around. a mate? not really, he basically just snatched you up, against your will. maybe if you fought more, he would feel guilty. but this, this felt like a love story. he found you, brought you home, and here you are, sleeping in his den.

he did have time to linger and think. he did hunt best in the dark after all. simon breathed out again. whatever, he thought. you could run. he'd catch you, and bring you back. whatever.

simon sat up, leaving the bunny girl to lay there. he crawled out of the den, and made his way to the surface. the sun is setting, the rays creating shadows of the surrounding birch trees. the snowfall has stopped. it's so quiet and calm. the snow is beautifully set and hard surfaced, glistening in the light.

the wolf stood up, and began his search for food.

you felt disoriented. where were you? this isn't your burrow. your eyes slowly opened, drowsy, and confused. with a croaky groan, it hit you. where you were. why, and how.

you sniffed the air. the smell is so much lighter now. with a confused expression, you looked around the den. you're alone. huh?

why? where is he? is he hiding behind the opening, waiting to spook you and punish you, when you try to leave?

he's gone. it's your chance now. you can go, leave, run back home, to your burrow. the den is colder without his body pressed against you. it's almost as cold as your burrow. oh. it's warmer here. even without him.

it almost feels shameful to even hesitate leaving. you should! but you can't. you can't get yourself to crawl out and run for your life. how would he feel, coming back, into a empty den? a nest. that feels like an bad word. it's not your nest, not even your den. you're just... there.

why can't you leave? it's his fault, of course, he must've done something to you... are you feverish, why won't you run? maybe you're sick... running would only make that worse. and there's a perfectly good bed just under you.

you sighed. how pitiful. you laid back down. how embarrassing. but it felt so good, to just lay. don't you have a backbone? it would feel better if... it would be warmer. maybe even safer. if he was there. but is he even your protector. is this den a trap, why isn't he here?

thinking felt overwhelming. or maybe it was just the topic. but it felt exhausting. you should just not think. just lay there, and hope for his return. pathetic.

simon's hands were full of bark. he already ate his meal. he didn't want to bring anything bloody into the den, it would surely disturb you. if you even were still there.

simon scoffed. it's useless to assume. he doesn't know anything about you. maybe you're waiting behind the opening, a rock in hand, waiting for him to stick his head in, so you can punish him, for taking you.

he sniffed the air. nobody else is around. at least not around the hole in the hill. the snow's surface was untouched, not counting his own footprints. maybe you were still there. hopefully you were asleep. sweet, and compliant. maybe you were awake, desperately waiting for him to come back and keep you warm.

he almost smirked at his own fantasies. how silly. you already have him dreaming. oh, he is hooked, simon chuckled.

with hands full of bark, just for you, simon stood above the entrance of his den. might as well barge in. and so he did. simon crawled into his den. and there you were. still asleep. in his nest. the wolf felt proud. he kept you around. here he was, bringing you food, while you just slept. that's how it's meant to be.

simon dropped the bark in a corner of the den. he almost rushed. he wanted to cuddle up next to you, hold you in his arms, keep you warm, and protect you. at light speed, he had crawled next to you.

even in your sleepy state, he had managed to startle you. you're eyes narrowed open.

"go back to sleep, bun..." he softly murmured to you. with a tired nod of your head, you closed your eyes, and fell back asleep.

it made simon chuckle. you will never have a reason to complain again. you're his now, after all. his.

either this is my magnum opus, or im delusional ;( heart banner by @roseschoices

taglist: @famouscattale @nappingmoon @distinguishedprincesstrash @tame-the-lion-writes @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[sugoroo]

TRADING CARDS!

ʚɞ summary: toji’s in need of some cash, and you’re in need of having your cherry popped! he’ll take your v card if you lend him your credit card. simple, right?

warnings: fem!reader, penetration (p in v), breast play, tummy bulge, squirting, loss of virginity (reader), fingering, oral (f receiving), age gap (reader just finished college), tojis a bit of a perv, 18+ minors dni.

wc: 7.2k

"hey, doll?" toji grunts as he pokes his head into your room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he shoots you a slightly apologetic grin. "i'm gonna need ya to cover my half of the rent again this month."

you look up from your phone, your lips pulling down into a small frown at his words. this isn't the first time this has happened, and it certainly won't be the last, either. "seriously, toji?"

toji simply gives you a noncommittal shrug in response, turning the pockets of his sweatpants inside out as if to further prove his point — there wasn't a single cent in sight. "i ain't got nothin', sweets. hardly been able to buy food these last few days."

you roll your eyes, letting out a soft huff at his not-so-subtle attempt to make you feel bad for him (which almost always worked, and he knew it.) "fine. but you better come through next month. i can't keep covering you."

he lets out a sigh of relief, reaching out to ruffle your hair with one his large hands. "yeah yeah, i'll pay up next time. promise." he was lying through his teeth, and you both knew it. but you chose not to comment on it — maybe a small part of you wanted to keep toji as your roommate, even if you had to pay his rent half the time.

toji heads back out into the living room to lazily slump across the couch, leaving you to your own thoughts.

it was really starting to grate on your nerves how much you had to support him. he's a fully grown man, and you're a young girl fresh out of college. and yet, somehow, you ended up being the one paying his bills with the leftover money from your summer job.

and maybe it wouldn't bother you so much, if you weren't so constantly pent up.

college was supposed to be your time to shine, where you'd attend countless parties and have meaningless hookups with guys in bathrooms, just like all the movies you watched when you were younger.

but it wasn't really like that. and as much as you loathe to admit it, you're still a virgin. with only your own feeble fingers to keep you company, you can probably count on one hand the amount of orgasms you've had in your life.

and that's when you have an idea.

it's just like trading cards — toji takes your v card, and in return, you lend him your credit card.

it's shameless, and you might've felt embarrassed with yourself for even coming up with it if you weren't in dire need of releasing some tension.

and if toji's as desperate for money as he makes out like he is, maybe he wouldn't mind agreeing to your little proposition.

the only catch in your genius idea is that you actually have to ask toji about it.

you've been lingering outside his bedroom door for what feels like hours, trying to figure out how to actually phrase your proposal without making a complete fool of yourself.

but just as you timidly raise a fist to knock, the door swings open, and toji walks right into you, causing you to collide face first with his toned chest. you barely register the two strong hands that rest over your shoulders to steady you, your mind suddenly laser focused on the way your cheek is squished between his pecs.

"oops. sorry, doll," toji chuckles heartily, moving one of his hands from your shoulder to gently grasp your hair and pull your now noticeably flushed face away from his chest. "didn't see ya there."

"n-no, it's my fault." you manage to stammer out, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain your composure. shit, you hadn't even asked him yet, and you were already a mess.

he raises a thick eyebrow at your skittish demeanour, his hand leaving your hair to teasingly poke at one of your adorably pink cheeks. "aww, what's this? you blushin'?"

you try and shoot him a glare, but it looks more like a pout than anything else as you meekly swat his hand away from your face. "shut up, toji. you're the one who walked right into me."

he lets out a deep, amused chortle at this, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at you with a lazy smirk. "right. and you're the one who was lingering outside my door like a creeper."

you let out an embarrassed huff at his rebuttal, knowing there's no way to deny it now. you take another deep breath, idly wringing your hands as you crane your neck to look up at him. "yeah. about that. i, um, i wanted to ask you something."

toji cocks his head to the side, his expression turning mildly curious. "oh? what could you possibly want to ask this old man, hm?" he grunts, your little nervous fidgets not going unnoticed by him.

"w-well, i, um..." you begin, your features twisting up into a grimace as you struggle to get the words out. damn it, you were already cursing your past self for thinking this was a good idea. "i have a proposition for you."

this seems to pique the dark-haired man's interest, and he straightens his back slightly, reaching up with a large hand to scratch his chin. "what kind of proposition are we talkin', sweets?"

you swallow thickly at the way he puts such emphasis on the word proposition, as if he already knows exactly what you're thinking. but of course he doesn't — how could he?

"the kind of proposition where i lend you my credit card to help with your little... money problem," you begin, fighting to keep your voice as steady as possible. "and in return, you..."

toji's eyebrows raise even higher at your words, and he lets out a grunt of irritation when you trail off at the end of your sentence. "in return i what? use your words, doll."

"and in return, you..." you repeat quietly, your voice becoming consistently quieter until the last few words come out as a mere whisper. "help me lose my virginity."

the silence that follows your words is absolutely deafening, the only noise being the faint sounds of cars passing by the road outside the apartment.

you immediately start thinking of ways to salvage the situation, maybe just laugh it off and say it was a prank or something. it's a flimsy excuse, but it's better than this painful silence.

just as you open your mouth in an attempt to backtrack, toji grasps your chin in one large hand, effectively shutting you up with the movement. "you're a damn virgin?" he rasps out, turning your flushed face from side to side as if examining it would help him find the answer.

"u-uh, yeah," you mutter sheepishly, shrinking in on yourself slightly under the sudden intensity of his gaze. "why do you sound so surprised?"

toji barks out an almost incredulous laugh, as if you were utterly ridiculous for even asking such a thing. "seriously?" he huffs, shaking his head. "you're a fine little thing. figured ya would've had guys linin' up around the block for ya at college."

your eyes widen almost comically at his words, your mouth opening and closing a few times as you try to form a coherent response. you never expected your considerably older, rough around the edges roommate to actually find you attractive. "i-is that a yes, then?"

he scoffs loudly at this, repeating your words back to you in a mocking tone. "how the hell do ya expect me to say no to that?" he mutters, the pad of his thumb skimming across your jaw. "i've done worse deals for a whole lot less."

you let out a long sigh of relief, some of the tension leaving your shoulders at his agreement. the hardest part was out the way — you'd managed to get him on board.

"hey." toji grunts, his hand on your chin squeezing hard enough to get your attention as he angles it higher, tearing you from your thoughts. "look at me when we're talkin', girl."

your eyes widen even further at his sudden commanding tone, your thighs instinctively pressing together slightly beneath your skirt. the reaction doesn't go unnoticed by toji, but he doesn't comment on it, simply filing the information away for later.

"ya sure this is what y'want, sweets?" toji asks, his voice barely above a low mutter as he leans his head down closer to your level, his hot breaths just barely puffing across your face as he seemingly searches for any signs of hesitance. "once it's done there ain't no goin' back."

"i... i know." you gulp, vaguely aware of the way his dark eyes follow the gentle bobbing of your throat. "i wouldn't have asked if i didn't want this."

he hums, appearing satisfied with your answer. his thumb moves from your jaw to the plump skin of your lower lip, pulling it down slightly before letting it snap back into place. "how long do i get ya credit card for?"

"how long?" you repeat, blinking a few times. you hadn't even thought about that. and it was becoming quite hard to focus with the way he was toying with your lip. "um... twenty four hours."

toji grunts in acknowledgement, but his lips start to spread into a mischievous grin, and you can tell he's not going to make this easy for you. "nah. forty eight."

you let out an indignant huff, your eyes narrowing at the audacity of this man. two whole days? he was probably planning on bankrupting you at this rate. "thirty six." you counter.

he lets out a hearty laugh, his chest visibly rumbling with amusement at your haggling. his thumb traces over your lip again, causing you to let out a shuddering breath. "mm. ya got y'erself a deal there, dollface."

"good." you mutter, reaching out a hand towards him in a gesture of sealing the deal. toji takes it, his large hand entirely enveloping yours as he gives it a brisk shake.

before you can even think of saying anything else, toji uses his grip on your hand to tug you closer to his chest, your face almost colliding with his torso again.

"i'm assumin' you've atleast kissed before?" toji muses, this thumb still tracing the contour of your lips as if that would answer his question.

you let out a small, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of your neck as you find yourself avoiding his gaze again. "yeah, i have."

toji tuts, yanking your chin back up again, more forcibly this time. "jesus, girl. what did i say about keeping your eyes on me?" he grumbles. "and whatcha laughin' for? i say somethin' funny?"

"sorry." you huff, your lips pushing out into an involuntary pout. "i'm not laughing because of you. it was just a really... bad kiss."

he hums in response, tilting his head to the side as his grin morphs into a small smirk. "damn. a virgin and you've never even had a good kiss. i got my work cut out for me here."

you try and shoot him another glare, a huff of exasperation leaving your lips. "no need to rub it in, toji. i'm paying you for this, remember?"

toji barks out an amused chuckle, shaking his head at your little attempts to try and look stern. cute. "yeah yeah, i know ya are. and don't worry, ya won't regret it."

you're about to open your mouth to retort, but before a single syllable can leave your mouth, toji's lips are on yours. they're rough and slightly chapped as they brush over your own, just the texture you would've expected them to be if you had to guess.

it's not a rough kiss, but it's not exactly gentle either. it's somewhere in the middle, somewhere that makes you think even the way toji kisses is just so... toji.

he pulls away after a few moments, letting out a soft huff of laughter at your dazed expression. "you still in there, sweets?" he hums, flicking his thumb against your forehead.

you can feel the way your cheeks flush darker at his taunting words, silently cursing yourself for getting so worked up over a simple kiss. damn it, it was so obvious just how touch starved you were. how were you going to make it through this?

"i'm still here." you grumble under your breath, causing toji to chuckle even harder. "and if you're just gonna keep laughing at me, maybe i'll go ask someone else to help me."

toji's chuckle turns into a bark of laughter, and his lips curve up into a smug grin as he flicks your forehead again. "no can do. we already shook on it. handshake's sacred, dollface. dontcha know?"

"ugh. you just made that—" you attempt to argue, but he shuts you up by pressing his lips back onto yours again, slightly rougher this time. you let out a sound of surprise against his mouth when his scar brushes against your skin, but slowly, you start to reciprocate the gesture.

he lets out a satisfied hum, starting to take a few steps backwards through the doorway of his room, his lips still moving against yours all the way.

you angle your face up to unknowingly chase after his lips when he pulls away, and you have to swallow down the embarrassing sound that threatens to escape you when you realize what you're doing.

toji snorts, shutting the door behind the two of you with a stupidly self-satisfied smirk stretching across his lips. "that attached to me already, huh? we only just started."

"i'm not attached." you scoff meekly, though your actions severely contradict your words as you lean up on your tiptoes in the search of another kiss.

"mhm. whatever y'say, girl." he mutters amusedly, his hand snaking under your chin again to help you reach his mouth. he meets you halfway, his kisses growing slowly more insistent as his tongue flickers out to swipe over your lower lip.

a soft gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of the warm, wet muscle asking for entrance into your mouth, but you comply, parting your lips to allow the intrusion.

he lets out a satisfied grunt, his tongue darting every which way as it expertly explores the warm cavern of your mouth. you just stand there, completely stock still, for a long few seconds before your own tongue starts to meekly lick against his.

"yeah, there we go," toji mutters into your mouth, his thick tongue easily enveloping yours as he rolls them together. he's so effortless with it, like this is second nature for him — you suppose it probably is. you're not oblivious to the amount of hookups he brings back to the apartment when he thinks you're asleep.

toji pulls back from your mouth with a lewd pop! once he registers that you need some air, observing the way your chest rapidly rises and falls like you can't get enough oxygen with silent amusement.

he's going to have such fun pulling more of these pretty reactions from you.

while you're still desperately trying to catch your breath, he slides both of his rough, calloused palms under the fabric of your shirt, his hands leaving a tingling trail of heat across your skin.

"wait—" you begin to protest, but whatever you were going to say trails off once you feel his fingers brush against the underside of your breasts.

he lets out a grunt of surprise, raising his bushy eyebrows. "no bra, doll?" toji scoffs, shaking his head. "you were ready for this, weren't ya?

your cheeks flood with embarrassment for the nth time this evening, and you feel the sudden urge to just shove his hands away and go back to your room to get yourself off with your feeble fingers. but you don't.

toji lets out yet another snort of laughter at your reaction, rolling his eyes. "i ain't sayin' it's a bad thing, girl," he mumbles, moving his hands to cup each of your breasts in his wide palms. "makes things easier for me. i like it."

you let out a small huff of relief at his sort-of-creepy reassurance, unable to fight the way your body instinctively leans into his touch, pressing your chest into his hands slightly.

he hums, removing his hands only to push your shirt up to get a look at your bare breasts, the fabric bunching up around your collarbone as he leans in closer to inspect your assets.

"toji!" you gasp in complaint, trying to push down the instinct to cover yourself up from your roommate's intense gaze. but when your hands fly up to guard your chest, he instantly grabs your wrists, making you freeze.

"ah ah," he chides with a smug smirk, easily moving both of your wrists into one hand while the other reaches out to fondle your breasts. "no need to be shy. ya got a nice pair of juicy tits right here."

his compliment is so lewd, and even with the way you attempt to wriggle your wrists free from his grip, he effortlessly keeps them trapped with one strong hand.

toji squeezes and kneads the supple flesh of your breasts, laving both with equal attention as he feels up every inch of skin available to him. he can't believe his little roommate has been hiding these pretty tits from him all this time.

when he leans down to pop one into his mouth, you let out a strangled gasp which quickly morphs into an almost pornographic moan when he starts to gently suckle at your highly sensitive nipple.

"shit." you manage to push out, your breaths becoming increasingly more erratic as he starts to flick his rough tongue over your perked bud. you can feel rather than hear the raspy chuckle he lets out at your reaction.

"so damn sensitive," toji rumbles as he pulls back from your breast, which is now shiny and slick with his salvia, before moving to the other. "y'like that, huh?"

it takes you a few moments to form a coherent response, your mind suddenly feeling unable to focus on anything other than the way he's practically making out with your chest. "y-yeah."

toji's smirk widens in a grin at your stammered words, clearly finding enjoyment in the way your body is reacting to his every touch. "bet ya do. poor thing, graduated college and still never been properly touched."

you let out an indignant huff, annoyance momentarily taking over your pleasure. damn it, why did he always have to mock you at any given opportunity? you're starting to wish you never told him about your virginity.

he snorts again at your huff, removing his mouth from your breast with a long, stringy trail of salvia connecting his lips to your chest. "whatcha huffin' for, girl? thought ya wanted this."

you shoot him another one of your trying-to-be-stern-but-really-just-pouting glares. "i do want this. but i also want you to stop laughing at me the entire time."

he rolls his eyes dramatically, acting as if not laughing at your expense was the most difficult thing he'd been asked to do today. "i'm not laughin' at you, dollface. i'm laughin' at those stupid ass college boys who missed out on having you like this."

before you can even begin to process his words, toji crowds you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed, and you instinctively plop down onto the mattress, looking up at him with wide eyes.

he snickers at your shocked expression, moving forward to stand between your legs. from this position, he towers over you even more than usual, and you have to crane your neck practically all the way back to meet his eyes.

"why so surprised, hmm?" toji drawls, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an uncharacteristically gentle touch. "y'think i didn't notice how pretty ya were the first damn day ya moved in?"

you open and close your mouth a few times before managing to pull yourself together enough to speak. "honestly? i kinda figured you didn't pay me much attention — considering how many hookups you bring around here."

he hums in response, moving his hand to grasp your chin and force you to maintain eye contact with him. "so you noticed that, huh?" he grunts, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "they're just distractions, really. i've wanted you for a while, but i assumed ya wouldn't be interested in and old man like me."

you can only raise an eyebrow incredulously at his words, as if he'd just said something ridiculous. "toji, you're so dramatic. you're not that old."

he barks out a loud laugh at this, slowly lowering himself to his knees between your legs. the audible sound of his muscles protesting the movement seems to disprove your words, making you wince. "no need to flatter me, sweets. i know 'm old." he mutters, his smirk still firmly in place.

you open your mouth to argue, but quickly forget whatever you were about to say when toji's large palms start to trail up your thighs, stopping just below the edge of your skirt.

"ya got no panties on too?" he asks teasingly, although you can hear the faint sense of actual curiosity in his tone. however, when his fingers graze against the edge of your lace panties, he huffs. "hmph. you disappoint me."

you roll your eyes at his words. you would've gone pantyless too, but unfortunately the prospect of finally losing your virginity made you so wet that you had to wear them to prevent yourself from dripping on the floor of the apartment.

"you've touched yourself before, i take it?" toji grunts as his hand moves to easily cup your clothed pussy in his palm, his smirk becoming a grin again when he feels how damp the material is.

you suck in a sharp breath, your eyes fluttering in pleasure at the feel of someone else's hand except your own touching your most sensitive area. "y-yeah, i have. but it's..."

toji seems to understand why you trailed off, letting out a hum of acknowledgement as his fingers start to rub little circles against your panties. "but your little fingers can't make you cum right, yeah?"

you can only manage a feeble nod, fighting the urge to start grinding yourself into his hand. he chuckles amusedly at your reaction, his fingers just dipping under the edge of your panties but not quite.

if you were one of his usual hookups, he'd probably be balls deep inside you by now. but you're not — you're his pretty little roommate he's had his eye on for a while, and on top of that, you're a virgin.

he's going to take his sweet time with you.

toji spends what feels like an eternity teasing you through your underwear until you're squirming restless on the edge of his bed before he finally, finally makes direct contact with your pussy.

"shit," he grunts as he swipes his finger through your sopping folds, the digit practically slipping across your slick skin. "you're so damn wet, baby. i've hardly even touched you yet."

you can't stop the pathetic whine that escapes your throat, your cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink and your eyes half-lidded with need as you look down at him. "please, toji."

fucking hell. he actually has to restrain himself from just pouncing on you right there and then when you beg him so sweetly. instead, he lets out a raspy chuckle, his finger moving down to lazily circle your dripping entrance. "please what, girl? use your words."

"please..." you say again, your voice breathless as you wriggle your hips slightly underneath his hand. "touch me properly."

toji snorts at your phrasing, shaking his head. but before another retort can leave his lips, he's rendered speechless for a moment when he slides a finger into your entrance, your gummy walls instantly sucking him in.

"jesus," he mutters hoarsely, yanking your panties to the side with his other hand to get an unobstructed view of the way your little pussy flutters around his finger. "what a pretty fuckin' cunt."

you let out what can only be described as a mewl at his words, and the noise sounds foreign to your own ears. god, what is he doing to you?

he groans low in his throat at the sound you make, moving his finger around inside of you as gently as he can and brushing the thick digit against your spongy walls.

it should be illegal, really, how quickly toji manages to find your sweet spot. he's had a single finger inside your pussy for just under a minute, and the calloused pad of his digit is already grazing your sensitive g spot.

"ah!" you practically sob, your thighs instinctively clenching around his beefy arm. you've never felt such an intense spark of pleasure before — it's obvious you never managed to find that spot before when you attempted to get yourself off.

he grins smugly, brushing his finger over the spot again, almost touching it but not quite enough to properly stimulate you. "that's the spot, ain't it, dollface?" the question is rhetorical. you both know that's the spot.

but before you can start grinding yourself down onto his finger, he abruptly pulls it out, admiring the way the digit is now coated in your shiny slick.

you open your mouth to protest, or beg for more, or something, but all rational thoughts leave your mind when you see toji slip his finger into his mouth, sucking your juices from it with a low grunt.

"damn, that's good," he mutters gruffly, almost to himself, as he slides it out of his mouth with a lewd pop! — his eyes then fall back on your glistening pussy, his pupils dilated considerably more than before.

in a matter of moments, toji's slid your ruined panties down your legs, admiring the sticky mess soiled there before shamelessly shoving them in his pocket of his sweatpants.

"hey!—" you huff half-heartedly, but before you can even think of finishing the sentence, toji's chapped lips are placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs.

"mmph," you moan softly, not bothering to protest as he slides your thighs further apart with his palms, his lips nibbling against the supple skin of your inner thighs, undoubtably leaving small marks that will bloom tomorrow.

"wanna eat you," toji murmurs once he's face to face with your pussy, his hot breaths puffing across your sensitive skin and visibly making your little clit twitch impatiently. "can i eat you, dollface?"

you crease your eyebrows a little in confusion at his request. from what you'd heard from your college friends, guys hated performing oral for girls. but the way toji was staring hungrily at your cunt, his tongue swiping across his dry lips, made you think he would simply laugh at you again if you told him that.

"o-okay," you mutter sheepishly. and the second the agreement leaves your lips, toji's burying his entire face against your heat, groaning into your pussy as he rubs his sharp nose up and down your sopping folds.

when he first slides his rough tongue across your sensitive skin, you swear you go cross-eyed for a full moment before regaining control of yourself. it's like nothing you've ever felt before, wet and warm and so deliciously lewd.

"fuckin' sweeter than candy," toji grunts against your skin, the vibrations causing your body to instinctively attempt to wriggle away. but he's not having it, his beefy arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you in place. "ah ah, no runnin', baby."

while before you might've tried to argue a little in protest, your brain has already turned to mush from just his finger and his tongue, so you can only let out a few unintelligible murmurs.

"yeahhh," he snorts as he continues to sloppily lap at your folds, gathering as much of your syrupy slick on his tastebuds as possible. "don't hear none of that backtalk now."

god, he's so messy with it. you can hardly manage to keep your eyes open to gaze at him, but when you do, it only makes your pleasure heighten to new levels.

you've never seen your roommate so focused on anything before — not even those storage wars shows he likes to shout at on the tv. his eyes are half-lidded, his thick fingers are digging into your thighs so hard you can visibly see the marks forming, and his tongue is ruthless as it delves in and out of your dripping hole.

"t-toji, shit. feels so good," you manage to stammer out, your head thrown back and your hands traveling up to tangle in his messy dark hair without thinking, tugging on it gently.

your action draws a raspy chuckle from low in toji's throat, and his sloppy, shameless tongue seems to speed up even more in response. you vaguely register a glob of saliva landing on your pussy, but just as quick as it falls there, he's already licking it back up. "c'mon, girl, i know you can pull harder than that."

you attempt to tug his dishevelled strands harder, but your hands feel weak, and your thighs are starting to shake slightly around his head. you notice a familiar spring coiling in the depths of your stomach, but it feels more intense than any build-up to an orgasm you've given yourself before.

"t-think i'm close." you gasp out, your mouth hanging open as you try and keep your body from collapsing back against the mattress. he's quick to help, his hands sliding up the back of your skirt to support your back.

toji hums in satisfaction, a shit-eating (or, in this case, a pussy-eating) grin spreading across his lips as he continues to devour you, his tongue repeatedly massaging your g spot.

it feels like he's trying to eat you whole, and it's completely overwhelming in the best way possible.

"yeah?" he mutters against your cunt, wrapping his lips around your puffy, swollen clit and sucking the sensitive bud harshly. "go on then, baby. cum for me."

it feels like a part of you was instinctively waiting for his permission, because the second those words leave his mouth, your entire body starts convulsing in his strong arms, a strangled cry leaving your open mouth as you orgasm.

your earlier suspicion was right, because this is the hardest you've ever cum before in your entire life. (not that there's really much competition). your limbs feel all tingly and airy, and there aren't really many thoughts left in your mind except from toji, toji, toji.

"hmmph," toji grumbles, pulling back from your cunt after he's sure every bit of your sweet release is down his throat. he looks up at you, snickering gruffly at the utterly dumb look across your features.

you look completely fucked out already, and he hasn't even fucked you yet. that's what happens when you make a deal with a virgin, he assumes.

while you attempt to come down from your high, toji shifts slightly, his knees aching slightly from spending so long on the floor. but even worse than that, is the raging erection he has straining against the material of his sweatpants.

it's been there since he started kissing you, and it's only gotten progressively worse as the time stretched on. he's so hard now that it actually hurts, and the small stain of pre-cum darkening the front makes him feel like a damn teenager again.

toji gets to his feet, ignoring the way his stiff muscles protest, and sheds his sweats and his boxers in one swift movement, kicking them somewhere across the room. he makes his way between your legs, spreading them even further apart to make room for his body.

"wait..." you mumble dazedly, your words adorably slurred as you blink lazily up at him, reaching out a hand as if silently asking for something. "don't y'want me to return the favour first?"

he snorts, although it makes something inside him warm the slightest bit at your consideration. "nah, dollface. you're paying me, not the other way 'round, yeah?"

your pouty expression from earlier returns, but before you can argue further, your eyes fall on his cock, which you only just notice is free from his sweatpants. it's bigger than any you've seen videos of online before, with a prominent vein running down the length and pearly rivulets of pre-cum leaking from the pudgy tip.

your mouth falls into a small 'o' shape, a sudden sense of dread filling you at the mere thought of trying to take that inside of you. why did you have to make this deal with someone who has such an unnecessarily large dick?

toji chuckles deeply at your reaction, cocking his head to the side with a smug smirk. "what? don't tell me you're g'nna chicken out on me now, sweets?"

you could just smooth down your skirt, hand him your credit card as payment for what he's done for you already, and walk right out of his room the way you came in.

but you don't. you've come too far already to back out now — you're this close to finally losing your virginity.

"no," you murmur meekly, swallowing thickly and tearing your eyes away from his cock and meeting his eyes again. "i don't wanna stop. it's just... is that thing really gonna fit in me?"

he barks out an amused laugh at this, his rough palms on your thighs squeezing in what's probably his way of giving you a reassuring gesture. "it'll fit, baby. i loosened you up a little already, so that'll help."

"okay," you mutter, your eyes flickering back down as he wraps a large hand around the meaty base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance and rubbing it along your puffy folds, gathering some of your creamy slick on the head. "is it gonna hurt? it's gonna hurt, isn't it?"

toji huffs at your hurried rambling, leaning his head down to shut you up with a quick kiss to your lips. "it'll only hurt at the start," he grunts in as soothing a tone as he can muster, bracing a hand against the headboard above you.

this seems to ease your nerves, if only a little, and you nod in a sign of silent permission. but he doesn't appear satisfied with this, and he grasps your chin with his free hand. "that ain't good enough, dollface. use your words f'me."

"y-you can start now." you murmur in response, your eyes glued to the way the muscles in his arm flex above you as he begins to slowly push himself in.

"fuckin' shit," he groans, the sound more guttural than anything he's let out so far as his cock breaches the first ring of muscle inside of you, his beefy arm visibly shaking as he tries to hold himself back from just plunging all the way in. "so damn tight in here."

your face contorts into a grimace as a rush of pain pangs through your body, your hands clutching at the sheets for purchase. you'd heard about it hurting online, but then again, most people didn't take a cock as big as toji's for their first time.

"sorry, babydoll." he mutters hoarsely, his gruff tone holding an underlying tone of genuine sympathy instead of the amusement he's shown so far — he's clearly aware of the strain he's having on your body.

he gives you a few moments to adjust to the intrusion, gritting his teeth to hold back any sounds that threaten to spill out of his mouth when he feels your cunt clenching and unclenching around him.

"you can keep going now," you manage to say, your eyes screwed shut and your hands fisted in the bedcovers as you try to deal with the pain. "i'm okay."

he grunts in response, the hand that was around your chin moving to grasp one of your balled up hands as he continues to sink himself inside inch by inch. he can feel how hard you squeeze his hand the entire time, probably cutting off the circulation to his arm in the process.

but he couldn't care less about that. not when he so close to finally being balls deep inside of his pretty little roommate.

"biiiig stretch." toji hums, a low, drawn out sound, when he finally feels himself bottom out, your spongy walls contracting and fluttering around him as if they can't decide whether to push the intrusion out or pull it in deeper. "there we go."

you, on the other hand, couldn't manage to string together a single syllable. it feels like toji has buried himself into your guts, like he's physically rearranging your anatomy right before your eyes.

toji lets his own eyes flutter shut for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. he knows you need a while to adjust to taking all of him, but damn if he doesn't want to pound you into the mattress right now.

you let out a strangled groan, wriggling around against the covers as your body stretches to accommodate his sheer size. it feels like he could split you in half without much effort. "p-please... start moving, toji."

"you sure?" he rasps gruffly, his hand gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles have gone completely white. "once i start i prolly won't be able to stop."

"i-i don't care. just..." you begin, unable to even finish the thought when he shifts slightly, unintentionally pushing into you even deeper. "move."

he snorts at your desperation, but the sound turns into something akin to a growl when he pulls out slightly, before shoving himself right back in all the way.

"ah!" you sob pathetically, clinging onto his hand even tighter as he starts to shallowly thrust into you. shit, you're pretty sure you just felt something inside of you snap.

you're officially no longer a virgin.

"yeahhh." toji grunts above you, his lips spreading into a pussydrunk grin as he moves he moves his hips leisurely but expertly. you're starting to understand why his hookups always cry his name so loud through the thin walls separating your rooms.

the initial pain slowly starts to fade, being replaced by an overwhelming sense of pleasure and fullness. you bring your shaky legs up to wrap around his beefy back, your ankles locking against his skin.

"jesus, girl," he groans, his hips subtly stuttering in their pace in response to your actions. "y'er pullin' me in even deeper."

you open your mouth to apologize, or retort, or something, but it comes out as a slurred garble when you feel toji's fat cockhead brush against your cervix.

"uh huhh." he grins smugly, his hand that was interlaced with yours moving down to grip your hip and keep you in place as he quickens his pace slightly. he's being a little gentler than he usually would be just for you, but this is still toji here.

"t-too much!" you cry out, reaching up to grasp onto his bicep above you for some sort of support. your entire body is jolting against the covers in response to his increasingly hard thrusts, your mouth hanging open dumbly.

"nah, dollface," he grunts in protest, his fingers digging into the skin of your hip as if to ground you. "i know y'can take it. doing so damn well f'me."

toji brings his palm up from your hip to slide under your previously bunched up shirt, fondling your breasts and rolling one of your hardened nipples between his fingers.

this makes a loud mewl escape from your throat, your cunt clenching around him in response to the dual sensations. if you thought his tongue made you reach new heights of pleasure, his cock is a completely different beast.

you can already feel something strange stirring in the depths of your stomach. it's not like your previous orgasm, it's unfamiliar — it almost feels like you're about to pee.

"t-toji, feels weird," you slur out, squirming against the covers as you try to hold the rising sensation at bay. "like i'm gonna pee or something. m-maybe y'should pull out."

he barks out a laugh at this, as if he knows something you don't. his hand moves down to pat your stomach, right where the prominent bulge of his cock is moving in and out.

"that means you're gonna squirt, baby." he utters simply, making your eyes widen in surprise. now that's something you've definitely never managed to make yourself do before.

looks like you're gonna be ticking off more than one first from the list today.

"makin' ya squirt for y'er first time," he proclaims cockily, smirking to himself as he effortlessly keeps up the languid rolls of his hips. "i'm damn good, ain't i?"

"i haven't even squirted yet." you grumble, heat flooding to your cheeks in response to his teasing. he's still your annoyingly smug roommate, even when he's fucking you into his mattress.

"key word — yet." toji shrugs in response, his lethal thrusts quickening in pace. his rough palm pushes down right above your bulging tummy, causing you to let out a strangled gasp.

your cunt clenches impossibly tighter around him, your ankles digging into the skin of his back as you feel your second orgasm of the night start to wash over you. "fuck. g-gonna..."

"yeah? c'mon, baby, make a mess all on me." he grunts gruffly, his hand moving down to rub lazy, sloppy circles against your puffy clit, the nub pulsing under his touch.

"tojiiii!" you practically sob, the added stimulation sending you hurling over the edge before you can process it. your vision goes completely white with the intensity of your high, your breaths coming in heavy gasps.

"oh, thattt's it," he hums in satisfaction, lightly patting your pussy as he watches the gushes of clear liquid squirt out, lewdly coating the base of his cock and balls in your essence. "fuckin' good girl."

it only takes him a couple more strokes for toji to know he's close too, and he quickly pulls out, slapping his thick cock against the flushed skin of your tummy and giving it a few final jerks.

as much as he'd love to fill you up, he figures that since you're a virgin, you probably wouldn't be on birth control.

and he's not about take that risk.

toji lets out a low, raspy grunt as he spills his creamy, pearlescent cum all over your stomach, tainting the supple skin with his sticky, oozy mess.

he lazily tugs his boxers and sweatpants back up, wiping some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before leaning down and giving your cheek a quick, wet kiss.

then he saunters out of the room, leaving you panting and limp on his bed while he rifles through your purse on the living room table.

"i would've done that for free, by the way." toji mutters amusedly as he pulls out your credit card, waving it tauntingly in front of his face with the smuggest grin yet stretching at his lips. "see ya in thirty six hours, dollface."

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

i’d like to dedicate my first proper fic to @screampied because her works inspired me to begin writing my own! <3

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[meownotgood]

forwards, beckon, rebound. / machine herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, angst, size difference, fingering, choking, dry humping, praise, russian terms of endearment, somewhat toxic relationship, mild augmentation kink, way too many emotions, mix of arcane + league lore / spoilers. word count: 16.2k

read on ao3

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Viktor enjoys making you feel helpless. 

Technically, it isn't enjoyment so much as it is a responsibility; you'll repeatedly show up at his secluded lab in the Undercity, and as he does with everyone who comes to his doorstep worn and destitute, he'll take it upon himself to give you what you need. You are like the rest of his endeavors — meticulously examined, ambitiously furthered. But unlike his various grandiose experiments and his pursuits for evolution, it isn't just his mind you occupy. 

There is some dusty, disregarded hole in his once-perfect mechanical heart, and if the hypothesis he's formed but doesn't want to acknowledge is correct, you are the most probable cause. Or perhaps, you'd be the cure. 

Carefully, with his usual amount of precision, Viktor pulls his leather glove from his hand. He allows his fingers to flex: scarred skin improved by intricately-crafted metal joints. He's positioned above you, large and imposing while he keeps you pinned beneath him. The firm, steel surface of his giant worktable feels cool against your bare back. The room itself is dim, worktable lit by an overhead lamp that burns when you happen to look directly at it. Thankfully, Viktor's armored form above you, encased in dark shadow, blocks out most of the light. 

The Hextech third arm on his back grasps your wrists unwaveringly, and keeps them in place above your head, utilizing an exorbitant display of strength. You can't move a muscle, not even if you tried. Lingering heat sears into your skin, radiating from the metal — from where the laser he's perfected could easily sever your wrists from the bone. 

What's more, you can hardly think. Your head is spinning; your heart pounds from between your ribs, fiercely yet uselessly. You can only stare at the glowing, emotionless eyes of Viktor's mask, and wait for him to decide what he plans to do with you. Gentle. With the way you're looking at him, you need him to be gentle, this time. 

He presses his palm to the center of your chest, where he can feel the erratic beat of your heart. Slowly, he begins to drag his hand down. It's a knowing, practiced motion — not as soft as it ought to be, considering his cold, purple-veined hand and calloused fingers. As his touch is brought down to your stomach, your waist, you shiver, and your body relaxes. Finally, fully. 

It doesn't take long for you to arch into his touches, just as he predicted, just as you always do. Your flesh loves to sing for him. 

This dance has been performed by the both of you numerous times beforehand. Viktor questions if you'll ever grow tired of it. Of the pirouetting, of revolving constantly around unspoken, trembling complications, just to return, to let your mind and your heart reel all over again. 

What he feels for you — what he has evaluated from you, because machines do not feel — is something unexplainable, foreign, futile. He knows this, this dynamic you've fostered; it hardly makes sense. You are allies with no common goals. You were friends, some disregarded years ago. Every other night, you stumble into his lab to interrupt his work, and he lets you. 

No, he indulges you. 

"You are quivering," Viktor hums, voice muffled and deepened by the mask's filter. A usual, matter-of-fact statement, but the edges of his tone sharpen in the wake of a held-back, dark chuckle. "You want me to touch you. Say it." 

The powerful, vastly-superior Machine Herald already has you right where he wants you. 

Slightly riddled with static, the way his thick accent curls around the words only serves to make you shudder more. Your breathing is choppy, your chest rapidly rising and falling. 

Not from fear, if Viktor had to guess. His scans of your heart rate would come across much differently if that was the case. This is from arousal. Clear, easily definable arousal. Just from his thick voice, his soft touch, and the imagery provided by his large body above yours. 

The sight of you is addictive. Addiction isn't a sensation built into his mechanical repertoire, but it's the best word he can think of to describe this. You are small when you're underneath him. So malleable, so fragile. So human. How abnormal. The compulsive surge that runs through his veins should not, according to all of his tests and conclusive research, be occurring. 

Viktor supposes this type of behavior would be more fitting of the past version of him. Presently, he doesn't have room to let time go to waste. His vision is all that matters. The old him, though, the Viktor you once knew would've given you whatever you desired without a second thought, even though he hardly deserved it. 

He was weak, once. For you, perhaps a part of him still is. 

You are intelligent, you always have been. He has cast away much of his past in pursuit of chasing a better, more important future, but still, he remembers each and every moment he shared with you quite vividly. They play in the background of his mind sometimes, persistent like a system error, recurrent like a late-night looping television program. 

Your inventions often kept pace with his. Your smile was bright, brighter than the pillars of light that shone from Piltover's grandest lighthouses. Starry-eyed and driven, you wanted to improve, as a person and as a scientist. You challenged him to push further right alongside you. 

Of course, you knew him better than most, but Viktor wonders: did you ever expect him to go this far? Did you ever plan on retreating back to Zaun with him, to fall further into madness together? 

By now, you must be smart enough to know he is different. What you might've had, a friendship or a partnership or something delightedly improbable, it is now nothing. Nothing more than another one of his shed weaknesses and old, discarded memories. 

Perfect machinery does not feel. Not even for you, no matter what it once felt. Scientifically, it can't. You should understand this relationship is not beneficial. He could and would gladly break you, it's what he built himself to do. And yet, as he's starting to realize, perhaps being broken by him is exactly what you want. 

"Please touch me," You're begging, as his palm caresses the all-too-human curve of your side. Your voice is warm, lustful. A sweet, familiar taste settles in the back of his throat, as you coo the old nickname you still reserve just for him. "I need you to, Vik." 

And just like always, because of you, because of his predisposed sense of responsibility, or perhaps because of an unrecognized fault in his complex machinery — Viktor gives in. 

He revels in your vulnerable, quivering limbs and your heavy, desperate gaze. The grip of his Hexclaw tightens on your wrists, your hands closing, fingers tensed. He drags his palm down your stomach slowly, carefully. His gentleness is calculated, but it is yours, all the same. 

Your legs spread for him on impulse when his hand reaches your thigh. He squeezes, before he brings his hand between them, allowing the end of his index finger to brush your clit; his touch is precise, with all the efficiency and learned confidence of a flawless, apathetic machine. He could make you fall apart for him so easily, every part of you perfectly attuned to his touch, and his touch alone. 

Yet, he's teasing you, careful and slight touches barely grazing where you're oh-so sensitive for him. Your thighs shake, and spread wider; your body is exposed to him, soft and sweat-soaked expanses of skin contrasting splendidly with his bulky, armored chassis of metal. Now, instead of his index, Viktor uses his thumb, providing more friction and a slightly firmer touch. You squirm, the pretty features of your face washed over in pleasure, before you breathe a small, satisfied whine. 

"That's it," He murmurs firmly. "To think this is all it takes to make you submit." 

Viktor allows his thumb to trace circles onto your swollen, needy clit, and your breath proceeds to hitch so deliciously for him. An action, and reaction. Repeated experiments make for predictable results. Hextech hand practically digging into your wrists, Viktor brings his free, metal hand to your cheek. Oddly tender, his cold palm cups your face. He isn't surprised at the response it gets out of you, your chest heaving with a deep, trembling sigh. Every part of your skin tingles, as you lean into his faux, steel touch. 

"Earlier, you wished to be defiant. Disobedient." Viktor scolds, his thumb flicking over your clit while his fingers brush your cunt, gathering your dripping slick on the digits. He takes his metal hand away from your cheek, and he presses it flat to the table, right beside your head. Your brows pinch disappointedly, clearly unsatisfied with his subtle form of punishment. 

"And now look at you. Wet and desperate." 

He's barely touched you, barely even begun with you, and you're already dripping. 

"I wasn't- I'm not disobedient," You're countering, although it's damn near impossible to keep your voice sounding steady when his persistent touch is toying with you. He's teasing, circling your clit agonizingly slowly, just to make you squirm. "I brought you everything you asked for. Like always." 

"Yes, and you did well," Viktor praises flatly. As though he's reading off a trained script, rather than watching the way your eyelids flutter as his knuckles brush your entrance. "Our current project will run smoothly now, utilizing the tech you acquired for us. But when I told you to wait, to bring the tech after I had finalized our plans, you did not listen." 

You admit simply, foolishly, "I missed you." 

Those words are familiar. You'll often tell him you missed him when he returns to the lab, home at last after finalizing a few affairs elsewhere. You said you missed his face the first time you saw it, your hands gently holding his cheeks, caressing metal and skin — despite how different he looks now. Despite the scars, the mechanical parts. 

He knows you missed him. In a soft, delicate way. In an indecent, desperate way. His form of longing is much, much different. When the mortal matter and fraying wires of his brain yearn to have your presence beside him, with him, under him, it is strong, it is carnivorous. It is encompassing. 

"You nearly comprised everything we've been working towards." Viktor's third arm tightens even more, making your wrists and arms go nearly numb. "There is only so much I can do to protect you. I disposed of the last enforcers to attempt tracking you down, but if you were to lead them here, you will not just be putting yourself at risk. You are threatening our entire vision with your recklessness." 

Carefully, his index finger finds your entrance: sensitive and wanting. He deliberately pulls his hand away when you whine, instead placing his palm back on your inner thigh. Your skin is soft to the touch. Your gaze stays steady on him, on the unflinching shape of his mask, your eyelids heavy, pupils blown with clear arousal. As though he encompasses all you need, anything you could possibly want, and everything that could devastate you. 

You are frustratingly beautiful. 

Viktor hums, the sound low, somewhat mechanical. He gently guides his hand over your neck, just how you like, until large, metal fingers are wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just tightly holding. Enough to ground you, to remind you of who you belong to. You let go of a sigh, your eyes growing heavier. Your heart is skipping, and with his hand around your throat, the subtle vibrations of your quick pulse shudder through his complex machinery. 

"Viktor-" You start, voice weak, barely there. "I'm-" 

"I know you want more." He squeezes your thigh, applies just enough pressure to your throat to make your mind go fuzzy. "Tell me what you have been waiting for me to give to you, what you desired so strongly that you ran to me, instead of following the plan. And perhaps, I'll let you have it." 

You tremble: a full-body, tingling shudder. Viktor — the Machine Herald — is so much larger, so much stronger than you. He's augmented himself to be significantly taller, significantly more imposing, and underneath him like this, you must look meager. Pathetic. Fully bare, your legs spread open for him. Giving yourself to him so easily. Your chest heaves, your mortal heart skipping and wavering at the sight of him above you, pinning you beneath his heavy, metal form. 

"Breathe, zayka," Viktor murmurs, his grip on your neck loosening up. "Your heart is racing. Focus on me." 

Taking in slower, deeper breaths, your mind quiets, your pulse calms. Stars and static thrum in the corners of your vision, your thoughts a knotted up blur. Viktor — his touch is all you can focus on — traces his fingers further up your thigh in approval. 

"There. Very good. You're alright." 

"Your fingers," You pant, "Please." 

Viktor scoffs, his tone mechanical and rough, "You can do better. Try again." 

Huffing, your head knocks the firm worktable when you toss it backward. 

"Bastard." Your hands clench and unclench, your wrists giving a poor attempt at struggling against their hold. To no avail, of course. "Are you at least going to let me touch you?" 

"No. Answer me. Do not make me repeat myself." 

You briefly gnaw on your bottom lip, your jaw tense, thighs shaky. "I need your fingers inside me, Vik. I've missed you, I need you, please. I'm going fucking crazy." 

Viktor's unmoving, glowing eyes examine you carefully. "That's it. That is much more sufficient. So exquisite, when you are begging. Take what you need, then." 

You're well aware he isn't the same man you once fell for, nor is he the soft-spoken, bright scientist you once knew. Rumors paint him as a maker, a monster, a machine. He is cold to the touch. He isn't supposed to feel, he removed such functions ages ago; they were useless to him. As were his failing lungs, his weak legs, his heart. A heart made from machinery never skips. It can't be blinded by love, or lust. It cannot be distracted by old, unkindled flames, in the same way you often are. You envy him, somewhat. 

But Gods, when it's just you and him in his lonely little corner of Zaun, and when you are at the pleasant mercy of his perfected touch, you swear, he feels more human than anything. Nothing else truly matters, because still, he is yours. 

Viktor's index finger slides inside you slowly, just barely stretching you around its thickness. You're wet enough that he could press it in easily, could have you melting and drooling over whatever you're given — but instead, he chooses to let the digit fill you languidly. The feeling is slight, enveloping and enthralling and familiar, yet not enough to make you feel full, at the same time. His fingers are long, dexterous. Pretty and scarred. 

You've watched him work on plenty of augments and automatons, hands tightly grasping a wrench to turn it, fingers carefully holding the ends of thin wires to thread them together. Each action swift, exact. 

With the same level of precision, Viktor presses his finger deep inside you, and crooks it upward to nudge it right against your sweetest spot — and you whimper, your whole body shivering, collapsing. 

"One is never enough to satisfy you," He asserts; he gently pumps his finger into you to a steady, easily manageable pace. "Isn't that right?" 

If his mask weren't there, you're sure you'd see him speaking through a slight grin, maniacal and crooked, impossibly him. Your heart pounds. You're doomed, you must be. 

In response, you nod your head fiercely. Another shaky moan tears through you as he works you on his slender digit. Pressing in, dragging out. Calculated and perfectly steady, like the continuous beats of a metronome. 

"Or," Viktor questions, "Should I have you come undone around just one?" 

"No," You snap quickly, although you're obviously in no position to be making demands. Your eyes flutter open, your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and frustration. He finds your desperation strangely satisfying. All for him. It's the same sort of hungry satisfaction that comes with working on an automation, striding closer and closer to a job well done. He adjusts, pushing your legs apart with his large knees when they tremble and threaten to close. 

"Give me two," You're pleading, "Please." 

Viktor hums, the sound low and vibrating. 

"Guiding you to your peak would prove trivial, even without the means of penetration. You are simple. Easy to unravel." His low, intimidating voice effortlessly sends goosebumps careening down your spine. "You could most likely be led to cum against my shoe or my thigh, from modest friction and my voice alone." 

"Viktor," You almost wince at how pathetic you sound. "Stop talking." 

Viktor eases his index finger as deep inside you as you can take, and heat surges across your form in thundering, breaking waves. "Why would I stop when you are enjoying it?" 

Oh, he knows you far too well. 

"Dammit, at least-" You exhale, trembling through a moan, and Viktor's Hextech arm holds onto your wrists impossibly tighter as your hips roll into his hand — desperate to feel more of him. It works, momentarily. Until he is using his free hand to firmly grip your waist: thick metal fingers digging into warm, pretty skin. He pushes you back against the worktable, holding you in place. 

You groan in frustration. "At least quit teasing me." 

"Such impatience. I am working you upwards, gradually conditioning you to take higher levels of stimuli. It will make the process as a whole much more pleasurable." 

"Gods if you weren't wearing that stupid mask, I would shut you up in no-" 

"I always satiate you, milaya," Viktor answers calmly, as he slowly drags his finger out, leaving you quivering and empty. The nickname he uses is tender, familiar. It reminds you of your once different life. Vividly, it forms blossoms in your chest, unfurling flowers and delicate petals. Tugging sweetly at your thudding heart, despite the cold artificiality of his manufactured tone. Milaya. His darling. 

Though, the Machine Herald does not covet. What he desires, he takes and makes his. 

"Interesting," He's muttering, seemingly mostly to himself. "Your neediness has greatly increased since the last time we convened. Normally, you are capable of controlling yourself. To a certain extent." 

He tsks, metal hand caressing slow, reassuring circles onto your waist, while his other palm dives back between your legs. His fingers drag over your cunt with an irrational sense of clumsiness, considering the motion is coming from him. He lets his fingertips search for nothing in particular, getting them slick with your arousal, nudging your clit carelessly with his knuckles until your back is arching, and your sighs are sharpening. 

"Sorry." You mumble a half-hearted apology, eyelids softly fluttering. 

"It was not a complaint." Viktor presses his fingertips close, dangerously closer. 

Your body needs him, needs what only he can give to you. His hands, his fingers inside you. Every inch of you screams for his touch. As though you are a solved puzzle, a piece of technology broken down to let him understand each individual part. Your thighs shake, and that's part A. Your chest heaves, your shoulders go tense. Significantly human responses. Components labeled B, C, D, V. Your lips quiver, before they mutter another breathless, desperate plea of his name. 

Predictable, and understandable. Yet, for certain, you are a delight to decipher. Those pieces and budding sensations come together as he thought they would, and they — and you, are primed to be bent at his will. 

You expect him to tease you further. When he falls silent, becoming more impossible to read than he already was, you feel your arms and your thighs tense with what must be anticipation. Surely, he can sense how eager you are. 

But Viktor doesn't falter, he does not hesitate. He guides his metal hand underneath your back, predicting its arch, and he presses two of his fingers, his middle and ring, to your drooling entrance. They slide into you with a filthy, wet noise; it's almost obscene how eagerly your cunt accepts them. How you plead with whiny utterances of yes, yes, your voice breaking, eyes closing. He eases them inside you slowly, fills you with them completely — until his scarred knuckles are nudging against you, and you're sobbing through a half-sigh, half-moan. 

He doesn't wait to hear you beg for more. You're given a calculated amount of time, just enough seconds to catch your breath and get used to the stretch of both digits inside you. He fucks you on his fingers, pumping them in and out to the tune of your broken whines and gasps for air. It's a gradual process. A coded, mastered technique well-baked into his mind, his heart, and his hardware. 

Of course, he's long since learned just how to make you fall apart. He has studied you, he's proceeded to subconsciously store your data in the most important vault in his mind. It is simply a matter of getting you there, of drawing out your pleas for him and your tremors and your pulses, to push you even further past your previous crescendos. 

You can always be louder. Finish harder. You deserve to. And when it comes to any and all of his endeavors, including this one, he is persistently, unquenchably ambitious. 

"Vik-" You're babbling, in a wavering voice he might logically, astutely label as precious. His quiet lab echoes with the whirr of various displays and devices. With your soft noises, echoing alongside the wet squelch his fingers make each time he presses them deeper. "Please, I just- I'm so- I want you so much-" 

"You have me," He answers rigidly. Prepared and intentional, his fingers move slower, drawing out your moans and your shudders of pleasure. "Or were you demanding more?" 

"I always want more with you." A faint, endearing pout forms on your features, the kind of look only he can draw from you. "Want- I want you to fuck me." 

It isn't anything of importance; just an aimless, desperate plea. The kind you might be expected to ask of him when you're in this state — your mind wandering, your body relaxed. You need fuel for your building fire, you need to hear him outline through words what he can't through actions. You cannot make him feel as you do, but Viktor is kind enough to let you play pretend. 

Though, for whatever strange, unrecognizable, illogical reason, he goes against the fixed line of actions he was previously adhering to, and he hesitates. He contemplates. He twitches, circuitry briefly inoperable, fuzzy and working against him. His center, his self-regulating core, hums with marginally more force than it did before. The hand he has pressed to your back trembles. It thrums with artificial, built-up heat, before he grips you much tighter. 

Fortunately, he rediscovers his composure as quickly as it waned. Viktor quirks his fingers into your sweet spot to make you cry out for him, and then he drags them half-way out — every moment agonizingly slow, so he can admire the way the digits glisten in the lamplight. 

"Filthy little thing." His voice is thick. His words are stern, making you picture how his jaw might be tightened. "I am already providing you everything you asked for, and yet still, you act greedy. Human desire is terribly intemperate." 

"As if-" You're squirming, sweating, your hair a mess, warm gaze and moon-wide pupils locked onto his obscured face. "As if you feel nothing from this." 

"I cannot feel. You are well aware of this reality. I suggest you do not continue to persuade yourself otherwise." 

"Bullshit." 

"In fact, I do feel nothing." Viktor brings his thumb to your clit on his next press in, rubbing it roughly, circling it precisely. "I am incapable of experiencing desire," His fingers crook and spread. "Nor enjoyment." They pump slowly, while they stretch you around their shape. "Or affection." 

"But you were worried about me- fuck- when I went off on that stupid mission," You're mumbling, barely able to speak through ragged gasps for breath, "You were fretting over my safety. You- hah, you stopped everything you were doing just to check on me, because you felt relieved, you felt happy when you saw me walk in, didn't you?" 

Did he? 

Hours earlier, you returned to his doorstep, and he knew it was you from the way you knocked; he put aside the small automaton he was working on, and hurried to meet you at the door. He gave you a quick once over — in this form, he is vastly larger and taller than you, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at him — but you assured him you hadn't been injured. When you fell against his armored chest in something of an embrace, he didn't push you away. Nor did he protest when you pulled his heavy, bulky shape on top of you as you fell back against the nearest surface, his additional sensors picking up your already increasing breathing and heart rate. 

He recalls your arms around him, hands tugging at his cape, removing sections of his armor, fingers threading through his hair. Soft lips pressing to cold steel — 

Viktor tenses. You are plenty capable on your own, capable enough that he rarely considers whether or not you'll return. You always do, after all. This mission was considerably riskier, though. Considerably more worrisome. 

If anything had happened to you, if he discovered you were injured or captured or worse, his subsequent reaction would be less than logical. His mental processes would malfunction, and he would lose the ability to think rationally. The stifling, unstoppable force that would build within him could be compared to something like rage, something like love. 

You swallow thickly, and the room swirls around you in a dizzy haze as Viktor slowly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you empty. 

He murmurs, "Look at me." 

It's a little difficult of a command to follow, with your head spinning and your eyes all heavy. Still, you force yourself to breathe deeply, to steady, in the wake of the sudden lack of attention. 

You look up, and his hand, fingers slick and filthy, momentarily moves to grasp your chin. He tilts you towards him, to make sure you're watching. Viktor reaches up, and he presses a mechanism on the side of his mask. It hisses, releasing air, small puffs of steam streaming from either side. 

He removes it tentatively. He tosses it aside with a bit less caution, causing it to clink, spin, and nearly fall when it hits the upper edge of the table. 

You're met with messy brown hair, scarred skin, and familiar moles. The entirety of his jaw is made of metal, reconstructed into intricately crafted steel that continues down his neck and underneath his armor. His skin is overly pale, to the point where you can notice deep eye bags, and the criss-crossings of several individual, purple-hued veins. His expression is stern and deadpan, his brows slightly creased. He takes you in, gaze flickering down for a moment, then back up — and searing eyes, dark purple pools and bright orange suns, finally meet your own. 

"Your legs," He's instructing; his voice, no longer filtered through the mask, sounds warmer, clearer, a little less deep. Despite everything, terribly familiar, and blissfully human. "Place them around me." 

Unable to stifle a smile, you lift your thighs, casually locking them around his back at the ankles. You rarely get to see his face, and it's impossible to keep your eyes off of him, nor can you stop your heart from pounding. Viktor returns your gaze, cold and unflinching. It's like he's examining you, regarding you with the same restrained interest as he'd have for the subjects of his experiments. 

"There you are," You're cooing, head tilting, "Vitya."

Viktor's expression finally shifts from his usual indifference, his brows scrunching up to form a slightly irritated scowl. 

"Defiant again. As expected." 

"You used to like it when I called you that. Am I not allowed to tease you now?" You're laughing, and your smaller frame, still pinned underneath him, shifts somewhat when he loosens his grasp on your wrists. A faint amount of mercy. You offer him one of those radiant smiles he can't stand — can't resist. "You can be such a hypocrite." 

"Open your mouth," Viktor sneers coldly, "So it can be put to better use." 

With a firm, metal hand, he holds the curve of your soft side, measuring your individual tremors, paying attention to the steady movement of your lungs. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your lips. Your breath hitches, and your mouth forms a line. You can't help but roll your eyes. 

"I can just leave, you know," You mutter, your voice still playful, yet noticeably a few volumes lower. "But I'm guessing you don't want me to." 

Funny. You seem to think you could escape from his grasp. 

"Open. Your. Mouth. Before I give in, and do something I shouldn't." 

"I'm not-" 

Your protest fizzles out into a surprised noise and a subsequent sigh; Viktor grabs you, he pulls you closer in tandem with surging forwards, and his mouth promptly crashes into yours. 

Finally. 

The kiss tastes sharp, like iron and ash, like something distinctly him when his tongue slowly brushes against yours. You allow your eyes to close — but Viktor hardly leaves you any room for air as he practically devours you. It's deep, enthralling, and clumsy. Needy, on your end, and hungry on his. The kind of kiss that possesses you, consumes you. Your mind is dizzy, your breath is gone, but you need to kiss him more than you need to breathe. 

You melt into him gently, naturally. Like you were always meant to. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek: a motion far too soft, far too important. 

When he pulls away, finally giving you some breathing room, your eyes immediately meet. Your chest is heaving, your heart warm and pounding to a tempo made just for him. His gaze is once again sharp, once again perfectly composed. 

You miss the softness of his lips already. "Vik." 

And he needs you, needs more of you. He's wanted to feel your lips against his for far longer than you or even he could have realized. Since those days when you were both young and stupid, when you vowed to achieve your dreams together. As though your gentle voice pleading his name is just tender enough to push him over a metaphorical edge, to flip some hidden switch in his complex mechanics — He kisses you again, again, again. 

All of this, it isn't meant for him. It is unfathomably human, from the way you breathe fervently against his mouth; stuttered breaths, quicker than his, heavier than his own could ever be. To the way he touches you, a half-machine's best imitation of intimacy. His still-human palm moves to brush your neck, then glides further to hold the back of your head. Your body is all awkward limbs and soft edges and smooth skin, but you fit underneath him oh-so perfectly. 

He can't stop. It doesn't seem real; Viktor imagines he must have fallen into a different reality, he's in a different body with a different, mortal heart. None of this makes an ounce of logical sense otherwise. Then again, when do you ever make sense? 

He can't focus on anything but your lips on his — because for a few fleeting moments, he isn't defined by metal and machinery; he is himself. He is a mess of muddled thoughts and imperfect touches. Your legs around his back pull his figure closer to yours, and you have him wondering what it might entail without any steel in the way. Just skin against skin. 

It'd be impossible for him to feel such a thing, when there's little skin left. His entire arm, his legs, his torso, his spine; they've since been replaced, improved upon. Is this the closest he'll ever get to you, to love? 

Waves upon waves of warmth wash over you, they drown you, they envelop you. Even once Viktor has finally pulled apart from you with one last soft kiss, you still aren't able to breathe. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so fiercely it almost hurts. 

He settles back above you, and as you calm again, he holds your gaze. His slender fingers move to trace the column of your throat, where they not-so-subtly seek out your pulse. It's racing for him. He looks remarkably composed now, compared to how disheveled you're sure you appear. 

Gently, he trails his hand upwards. His thumb swipes your kiss-swollen bottom lip. Your mouth parts instinctually, allowing him to carefully press the digit into your warm mouth, onto your wet tongue. 

"Do not leave," Viktor murmurs, an analytical edge already returning to his tone, in spite of what transpired between you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, brushing it over your bottom lip again, smearing your lips with your saliva. "Stay for tonight." 

"Are you asking? Or is that a demand?" Your breath on his skin is foggy and hot. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, his gaze regarding you inquisitively, you propose another question. Your hands clench, they briefly push against the unyielding grip of his Hexclaw. "Will you let my hands go now?" 

"Tsk. Only if you are capable of keeping them to yourself." 

"C'mon…" You hum disappointedly. He appears routinely unaffected by your pouting. So, you change your approach. 

You shuffle, trying to get more comfortable. The table beneath you feels especially firm. "What if I say please? Is that what you're looking for?" 

"Go ahead. It will not affect my decision." 

"Seriously? But I want to touch you. You're so pretty." 

Viktor hesitates, but only briefly. He senses the whirring in his chest, the usual hum of his augmented components. Substitutions where imperfect pieces should be, strength replacing frailty, mechanics coming to life once more as his mind becomes forcibly unclouded. His systems are working as usual again. All it took to experience a malfunction was your lips on his, and all he needed to do to rebuild his composure was pull away. And you are still a gasping, heavy-eyed mess. 

Still, there is something troubling him. The same illogical functions that've been prodding at his mind since the very beginning. Lingering errors. Faults in his perfected frame. When he looks at you now, he strongly senses the push and pull of those inaccuracies. 

If he allows you to touch him, each framework, every mechanism — Everything he's been carefully constructing might come crashing down. 

Would that be so bad? 

Pretty. How ridiculous. Viktor scoffs, his jaw tensing up, his next words arbitrary. "Most are afraid when they look at me." 

Perhaps they should be. Perhaps you should be. 

But you just smile, your expression growing soft as you tilt your head, and you answer in earnest: "I don't think I've ever been scared of you." 

Again, there goes his worthless, thrumming, obsolete heart. 

You should be afraid of a man who's designed himself to fit an image you no longer recognize. You shouldn't try to get so close to him, when his compulsive obsession to destroy and remake borders on a clear line of danger. This new chassis embodies perfection. It has long since relinquished any weaknesses, but if you detested him, he wouldn't blame you. Others are reluctant to embrace his vision, save for a select, fortunate few. You and him have history. History that would make seeing him like this rather difficult, he assumes. 

Usually, Viktor is able to keep any oversights from throwing him off course. He can't be distracted from achieving his goals. The people of Zaun need him. This new body poses no hindrances. Pain doesn't disrupt him; it can be turned out, like anything else. Pain of the body, and pain of the heart. 

You, though. Any thoughts he has of you start as small blips. Tiny, persistent sparks. They build overtime, burning brighter, hotter. Until he sees you, and you look just like how you did back then, so, so long ago. There are tired lines on your face, faint scars, and he knows they're his fault. All at once, his mind is threatening to become a mess of discordant, fraying parameters, of processes that are refusing to function in the manner they should. 

He wants to keep you far, far away; far from him, from this lab. Far from this terrible, awful place you both grew up in. If he could, he'd have you go somewhere so very distant, where you couldn't distract him — where you could be happy and free. You will see the sky, feel the sun's warmth, and breathe fresh, cool air. It'd be what's best for you. And he will continue to further his endeavors in evolution. Alone, as intended. 

But ultimately, no matter what he winds up doing to his mind or his body, he would think of you. Of holding you or unmaking you, sometimes he isn't sure which. If you were truly afraid, if you ran, he wouldn't follow on your heels. But along with you, you'd take a piece of himself, a faint trace he would never get back; for better, or for worse. 

Viktor listens to the sound of your breathing: steady, deep. His gaze studies you, but it lingers on your eyes for longer than intended. You are still looking up at him, smiling, sparkling like a sky full of stars. As though he is a sky filled with stars. 

Your breaths become heavier when he presses his palm to the center of your chest. He drags his touch down, down. You are more sensitive this time, he notes. You lean into him once his hand caresses your pelvis, your waist, and you loosen your legs from around his back to become more comfortable. His fingertips trail up your inner thigh, and you shudder, you shiver. 

He thinks of kissing you once more. A couple times more, maybe. Proper judgment tells him he should resist. The thought remains there, lingering and burning between you. 

"Viktor…" You murmur, your voice a bit broken, but he's hanging onto every word. "Touch me again." 

Pleasant sensory inputs glow within him; tingling veins, reverberating wires. Overwhelming heat fills his shoulders, the back of his neck, his head — the heat of machinery, the warmth of his soul. 

Viktor grabs your waist assertively, metal fingers digging into your hip. His gaze doesn't waver from yours as he guides your thighs to spread. Suddenly, he pushes himself against you, until you are hopelessly pressed between steel and metal. Between him, and the worktable. 

You feel his weight, you feel the intricate ridges of metal plates and hard edges, the artificial heat of his much larger body radiating against your bare skin. Now, you are completely pinned, practically chest to chest, pressed underneath the Machine Herald so closely it's enough to make your head spin. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. Perhaps he can hear it. Or maybe, he just knows your heart must be pounding for him, as it always does. 

Your limbs tremor with excitement. As his palm squeezes your thigh, you can't help but arch into his touch. Thin, skillful fingers press close and feel how wet you are — still so sensitive, already dripping out onto him. You aren't teased, you aren't even able to catch your breath, because two of his fingers are swiftly dipping inside you, giving you exactly what you need. 

It feels so right. Viktor reaches for your cheek. He encourages you to continue meeting his gaze when your eyes flutter and nearly close. 

Your gaze on his, you let his name leave your mouth in a series of sharp gasps, and desperate pleas. He fills you slowly, but wastes no time building a rhythm; his fingers pump into your sensitive cunt gently, then methodically. Satisfied, Viktor hums, and he carefully shifts his other arm down. He holds your back as it arches, further pressing you against himself. 

Now, the way he pleasures you is deliberate, it isn't enough, but Gods, you'll take anything he gives you. 

"That name," Viktor starts, speaking in a smooth, level tone, perfectly contrasting the airy huffs and whines you utter for him. The name he hoped to relinquish, his name. "It sounds best when you are pleading it." 

You smile through a soft moan. "It's my favorite. Such a sweet name." 

Precisely, determinedly, his fingers crook into the spot within you he knows all too well, and you crumble, you sob. 

"The tech you brought to me will accelerate the completion of our latest prototype," Viktor is explaining, matter-of-factly. As though the conversation is as simple as it is necessary. Like he doesn't have his large body shoved against you, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It just serves to excite you further, honestly. 

"I will install the heat core, and adjust its interior components accordingly. We could have its systems operational by tonight. However, I doubt I will be able to focus." 

You take a forced, deep breath. "Yeah? Because of me?" 

Obviously, he wants to say. You'll be here, staying in his lab, as you usually do after a tough afternoon or a previous sleepless night. He doesn't mind. Your chatter might occasionally be disruptive to his work, but your voice is nice, it is calming. Your presence itself might be a distraction, an interference that his mind tells him he should discard, but having you here is a nice change of pace, compared to the long, lonesome hours he's grown used to. He has never minded. 

Sleep is less of a necessity for him. Resting for a handful of hours a few times per week is usually enough to keep himself operational. The torn leather couch he keeps in his quarters is there just for you. He no longer needs to eat in the typical sense, although he still needs to recharge burned energy. He keeps stocked up on the foods he remembers to be your favorites. 

It's strange, out of everything he's forgotten, he still remembers such useless, trivial details. Each and every detail about you. 

Without you, this space — the adjustments he's made to accommodate your presence, the dip in the couch from where you always sleep, your articles of clothing strewn over the floor and the couch arms. His lab would feel so empty. 

His next words sound much gentler than usual. Warmer, more desperate. 

"Because your voice will not leave my mind. Begging for me. Breaking for me," Viktor murmurs. He nudges his fingers against your walls, testing, teasing you. "Pleading my name." 

Once more, he challenges your limits; his fingers slide into you deep, so deeply you can feel them everywhere. Nudging at your core, filling you perfectly. As if on queue, you whimper a broken plea of yes, and as your eyes flutter, you're cascading into a needy mess of pleasant, shaky gasps. You writhe, your pinned hands trembling, wishing for something to hold onto. Though, he keeps you in place underneath him, blissfully unrelenting. 

"Say it," Viktor demands, "My name. Tell me who it is you need." 

"Viktor," Your voice is light, clumsy and slurring slightly, but in the way you say his name, there's an unmistakable lilt of pure adoration. You need him, you need to feel him everywhere: his practiced touch, his soft skin, his steel-built anatomy. You want him to not have to leave you, to not need to choose between you and the Undercity's future. 

You feel completely, utterly dizzy. You want so much. You want his hands, flesh or metal, to study every intricate inch of you. You want him to stop holding back, you need the both of you to make up for the stupid amount of time you've lost — "I- hhah- I want…" 

With your eyes nearly shut, static and stars flickering at the edges of your vision, you hadn't noticed how close he'd become until Viktor's voice echoes warmly, right against the shell of your ear. 

"You want me to fuck you?" 

And holy shit, his tone is sultry, his accent is thick — you shiver so hard you're sure he's left feeling the aftershocks, your body still pressed up right against his, even through his layers of metal armor. Viktor doesn't stop the steady pace of his fingers, pumping and arching and working you so well. Nor does he quit speaking, simply because he knows this is what you want to hear. What you need to hear. 

"You are insatiable," He scolds, although there's little emotion in his level tone. Just an obvious, already-known sense of acknowledgement. His voice is a thousand times more intense when it is curling directly into your ear; "You wish for me to render you even more weak than you currently are, so you can be shown exactly who you belong to? Oh, and how I'd fuck you. How I would take you. I would make a mess of you, I'm sure. You'd be begging to be given all of me. To be used by me." 

It's merely theoretical, a set of fake promises and dirty words to put pleasant visualizations into your mind — calculated, like everything he pursues. And it works. Predictably, your entire body shudders with pure, forceful need. You pulse around his fingers, throbbing like a heartbeat. You sob, and try to twist to face him, although it's impossible, considering you're still tightly pinned beneath his figure. 

You want to see his face, he figures, so Viktor shifts up. He re-puts himself in the center of your vision, and you glance towards him, eyes flickering across his face; your gaze on his is practically teary-eyed. Desperate and eager, you find ways to plead without words. 

You want to let go. Of course you do — always forced to be strong, you need nothing more than to melt at the hands of the last person left in Zaun that you trust. Even if he is more machine than person. Even though he is not right for you. 

For a moment all too brief, Viktor wonders what it would be like to push those boundaries. To truly have you, beneath his hands and in his heart, to feel you resounding beside him like the echoes of a rippling, rolling wave. 

How would he take you? No, how would you want him? 

He formulates a few possible outcomes. Perhaps you'd want him hard and desperately. You need to be put in your place, to feel him as close as he could possibly be while he molds you to his shape. You want to be obedient. A good little subject. You want to be called good, very, very good for him while he pounds you into the table, or maybe while he leans back, glowing, masked eyes focused solely on you, your hands gripping his armored shoulders so you can bounce on his lap however you'd like. The Machine Herald's perfect little pawn. He wagers with such filthy actions and words, he could make you even louder than this. 

You'd be pinned underneath him, and instead of his fingers, he'd fill you with all of himself — carnal and raw. Warm and sweat-soaked. Yet still, your body pressed to his would be agonizingly tender. 

Or maybe you'd want him in a different way. In a much softer way. 

Tenderness has never been afforded to him, it's hardly a concept he knows, but perhaps it's what he once hoped for. With you, it's what he once pictured. 

Every touch would be slow, delicate. Your hands interlocked. Bodies pressed together, galaxies against galaxies. So close, they could be mistaken for the same shape. He would learn you truly, and honestly. Warm and gentle, you would touch him soft enough to make him human again. 

Your voice would beg for him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, against his form. Useless, perfect declarations of love. Viktor shudders. He imagines your hands, pretty and delicate, brushing the space between his shoulder and his steel spine. Feeling his scarred skin, alighting fiery sensations he assumed he'd long since lost. 

Compared to who he was before, he is much stronger. He must be strong, must be forged of grit and iron, he must not submit to worthless, human desires. But you make him oh-so weak. 

He isn't supposed to be weak. 

"Please," You're gasping. You are barely able to speak at this point, babbling sweetly between broken noises as he fucks you on his fingers; it's just enough to make you shut your eyes and imagine more. "Fuck- Vik- Oh, p-please…" 

Splintering, throbbing with mechanical heat, his inner workings surge with a sublime abundance of molten, unbridled energy. Burning, it's burning him up from the inside, melting him down and making him fragile. 

You've gone fuzzy beneath him — No, his vision is fuzzy. Your edges are blurred, your chest is heaving as his fingers barely leave you before pressing back in. His hand adjusts, allowing his thumb to brush your puffy clit on the next press in. When you whimper his name, as you've done countless times before, he swears he sees nothing but flickering, colorless static. 

Burning and heightening and building, he must be malfunctioning, experiencing crucial gaps in his design. This shouldn't be happening. He should not feel, and this isn't feeling, but there is something building inside of him, something with your name on it. 

No, no, your name is flickering through him, pounding against his mind like a drum, and he has to establish control. He has to fucking fix this. 

He needs to be closer, so much closer. He needs you in an unexplainable, all encompassing way. In a way that shouldn't be occurring. He doesn't want anything, he can't experience the sensation of wanting because it isn't meant to exist. 

Truthfully, he's past the point of no return, and you might be all that's left to hold him in place. Impossible. The only thing he's ever desired is progress, evolution. Improvement is what matters. Improving, fixing, augmenting. 

You are going to be the death of him. He needs to be pressed against you, holding you, in you, examining your inner workings, guiding you to reach your true potential — 

Something snaps. 

"Do you know," Viktor grasps your face, roughly tilting you in his direction. The newfound harshness to his tone is exhilarating. "How impossible it is to resist breaking you?" 

He laughs, the sound sharp, almost chilling; his smile is crooked, barely recognizable, showing off even more crooked teeth. His gaze holds your own until it practically burns into you. His body is hot. To the point of overheating. You feel the heated metal against your skin, pressing to your chest, your thighs, faint puffs of searing steam pouring out from gaps in the plating. 

The grip his Hexclaw has on your wrists is so tight it nearly hurts. But it's faltering, his hands are twitching. He seems to recognize he might be hurting you, and so he lifts off of you slightly, he forces himself to loosen his hold. 

There's a sound coming from him that echoes like grinding gears, like the hiss of burning filaments. Like something is crumbling. Fighting against itself. 

"It is all I have ever known, milaya." Viktor lets go of something akin to a sigh, although he has no need to breathe. He is utterly ruined — the poor excuse for a heart he once placed between his ribs is aching, shuddering with the anticipation of a touch, soaring with the softness that comes with a kiss. Is this what it feels like to be dizzy, to be lovesick? 

You shudder as his thumb rubs your clit, and he digs his metal fingers into your side, feeling the space just beneath your ribs. "You will soon understand," He murmurs, "And if you are incapable, I am still willing to teach you. To make you into so much more." 

There's a stirring in his chest at that, at the thought of completing you; a deep-rooted abnormality he can't quite pinpoint. Is it excitement? Guilt? Lust? 

You swallow. You're crumbling, as he sends tingles through your veins in the wake of more enthralling words. 

"You are mine. Your fundamental place is at my side." Viktor senses the building heat of his inner workings, a deep wave rolling up from his constructed spine to settle onto the back of his neck. Building, burning, breaking. "I cannot wait to unmake you." 

Pulling you apart would be delightful. 

Your pieces would be disassembled, separated by each individual, pretty, dizzying section, so you could be redone carefully, gently, with a sense of tenderness only he could manage. He wants to understand you. To know exactly what makes you tick, down to your most basic of functions. To be close. Indistinguishable, the both of you made from the same materials. If you were constructed in his image, your components marked by his influence, there would be no doubt who you belong to. 

Through breaking you and mending you, he wonders if he could find new ways to make you sing. You'd relax under each touch, shuddering and breathing his name as he completes your newfound enhancements. Gazes locking. Touches lingering. Metal soldering. Viktor trembles. Gods, how he wants you. 

Furthering your potential and heightening your pleasure both require similar sentiments. Trust, and vulnerability. Opening your chest to watch your heart pound for him is the same as measuring your hitching breaths, growing heavier the deeper and faster he presses his fingers into you. 

Because delicately pulling you apart just to put you back together is some metaphor for intimacy. Carving out a space for you within the confines of his fake heart is some synonym for tenderness. Holding onto his memories of you, replaying everything he can't quite forget to the point of near insanity — to the point where he attempted to forcibly remove you, by removing those emotions. Only to fail. Feeling these sensations for you when he shouldn't is some form of devotion. 

You shouldn't feel for him either, right? 

Having you there from the very beginning meant something; you were beside him when he only dreamed of becoming someone greater. When his ideas for evolution were just prototypes, when he first put the full extent of his weight onto both his legs. Didn't it mean the world to you too? 

You were equally misunderstood. By your peers, by the world. Just as you believed in him, he saw light in you, from the very start. He thinks you could burn bright enough to melt anyone who stands in your way. And now, years down the line, when he is seen as less than human, you only see him. Not what he's become. It's infuriating. It's unmistakably loving. 

You are panting. Getting close. Your bottom lip quivers, and your body tenses, each shudder more forceful than the last. His fingers echo a filthy, wet sound each time they pump into you, and your back is arching, you are simply begging to fall apart around him. For him, because of him. You deserve to. 

And you sing, voice trembling like plucked strings, "Just p-please. You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you- I've always trusted you. Vik, I need you. I'm yours. All yours." 

All his. 

Whatever he turns into, whatever becomes of his body, memories, and heart, you would still follow. No matter what his goal might be; to destroy this city for what it did to the both of you, or to work in unison to try and remake it. Or perhaps, he plans to become more. An example of perfection. A God. As if he isn't one already. 

The first time he touched you, when he felt the softness of your skin and heard the plea in your voice, and knew you were in his heart still, still, wasn't it akin to a prayer? 

Oh, he is going to unravel you. 

Viktor allows his grip on your wrists to finally, fully loosen; his Hexclaw presses flatly to the table, helping to support his weight. Relaxing, you exhale a deep breath, but you don't hesitate for long. Your arms waste no time wrapping around him, pulling him close. When you kiss him, a hand cradling his cheek like he is something breakable, and not a perfected piece of unstoppable machinery, the tender press of your lips to his feels undoubtedly inevitable. 

All he knows is since the day he pretended to forget about you, when he decided to become something more, his new heart beat steadily, his enhanced mind was clear. But his systems wouldn't stop buzzing. 

When he hardly knew where you were or what state you'd return to him in, the noise grew sharper. Fervently pulling, Hextech whirring, unsated electricity sizzling like fireworks underneath his skin. Having you in his arms once more only made the static form so thick, he thought his mental processes might completely go haywire. All he knows is that now, as he's kissing you, feeling your lips on his, your body against his own, and your hands tangling through his hair — for once, the static is silent. Blissfully silent. 

And he kisses you, harder than before. Softer than anything and everything. 

"Faster-" You're pleading brokenly against his mouth, between breathy kisses, your voice echoing through him, "More." 

Faster, harder, more. Whatever you desire, he's going to give it to you. Viktor mumbles, "Of course." 

Finally able to move, you hook one leg around his waist, you use it to drag him in even closer. You rock into his hand when his fingers spread and crook inside you, and you grab tight, messy fistfuls of his hair. His lips on yours, kissing you over and over, leave you little room to breathe. 

Once you've pulled away, you're gasping for air, and his gaze fixates on yours: examining, devouring. Viktor takes note of your every movement. How you grind into his fingers when his thumb teases your clit, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, brows pinched. How you fall back against the table when the sensations overwhelm you, eyes shut and limbs weak. Pulsing and tensing around him, so sensitive. So close to falling apart. 

Your arms wrap around him again, and he tries to keep the pace of his fingers steady, while you begin placing hurried kisses to his cheek, his neck. You kiss the side of his face, soft lips on soft skin. Then, your lips continue down, they press to his steel jaw. He tilts his head to let kisses fall over the expanse of metal that runs down his neck. Tingling phantom sensations curl into him and split him open. 

"Close," You're muttering, so quiet he nearly doesn't hear. You hold him as tight as you can manage. Your breath is warm on the side of his face, tickling his skin, making him feel even warmer within. 

"You are close?" He repeats for confirmation; his hand finds your side, and you grip his shoulders, hands brushing over thick plates of metal, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Your nails dig in, firm enough that he thinks the steel might chip. Viktor breathes a slight laugh, "You sound so sweet." 

"So- I'm getting so-" You swear, "Oh, f-fuck…" 

The only way he might quench what's come over him and steady his systems is by watching you come apart. Pleading his name, while you melt into a needy puddle of all the emotions and pleasant sensations he could never let himself have. Brought to your peak by his touch, his voice, because you are his, all his. 

Viktor's free hand traces up, cool steel carefully finding your collarbone, your neck. Then, his fingers are wrapping around. He squeezes your throat just barely, just how you like, enough to make you fall back with your arms sprawled above you. Your head is perfectly dizzy, as his fingers work you steadily, his thumb flicking your needy clit much faster. Pushing you closer, closer. 

Until it's far too much, and you are at his mercy, guided right to the edge of an exhilarating, electrifying precipice. 

"Let go. I have you," Viktor instructs, "Let yourself submit." 

Everything you've been building towards, all of his touches, all of this ecstasy, and how terribly you've missed him coalesces into this. Into a single, shuddering moment, waves upon waves of pleasure pushing you over the waterfall's edge. You're melting, cumming hard for him, your arms shaking, until he's removing his hand from your throat and giving you something to grab onto — delicate fingers laced with thick, strong, metal ones. Perfectly contrasting. 

Your vision goes white. Your body tenses and then goes limp, like you've been shut down. The high is forceful, before it becomes soft, ebbing over you with gradual warmth, his hand in yours enough to steady you. Heart pounding, you take quick, loud breaths. 

You can't help but feel disappointed when Viktor's hand releases yours to return to your waist. He holds you carefully, cold fingers brushing your skin reassuringly. Every touch feels deliciously raw, alight and sensitive. 

Your eyes open slowly. Viktor's hair is a mess in his face, likely caused by you. He seems flushed, if only slightly. His unflinching gaze flickers across your form, before it settles back on your eyes. 

"Breathe," He instructs carefully, gently. His hand grips your side a bit tighter; he's clearly affected by the way you sigh. You do your best to follow along, the aftershocks fading as your pulse slows, and as you start to calm. 

"There. Excellent, you have done so well," Viktor praises. He smiles slightly in satisfaction. "You have never been this breathless." 

Whatever words you could've formed in response don't come. They can't, not when his fingers are still inside you; not when Viktor is pressing them into your sensitive cunt just barely, squeezing your side as he delights in the way you whine. Pleasure, white-hot and familiar, surges through you fiercely. 

It's so much, it's so much, it's too much, he's already fucking you with his fingers, and before you can fully wind down, you're swiftly building towards another high. Your body needs this. You just aren't sure if you can take it. 

"Ah- shit," You murmur; reaching up, you tangle both hands in his hair, gripping tight for leverage. His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "I want- I need more. It feels so good, Vik," You're practically purring those last words, your whole body shuddering through another wave of ecstasy. "But I don't- I'm not sure if I-" 

"You can." Viktor interrupts, assured and composed. "You can cum for me as many times as I dictate." 

You're smirking now, obediently spreading your trembling thighs wide, while you roll your hips into his touch; his fingers are so thick, so impossibly, perfectly deep — "Hah- and you said I'm the insatiable one." 

"Yes. You are the most insatiable human I have ever known. And it would seem you are particularly insatiable with me." 

"You were once- Oh-" 

Your head falls back as Viktor nudges that sweet, tender spot inside you, and your body becomes limp once more. 

He takes the opportunity to bring the Hexarm's hand to your cheek. It's large enough to eclipse your face, the same way it was big and strong enough to easily pin both your wrists in its grasp. The heat radiating from the metal makes your eyes briefly flutter, before he trails it down to your throat. Perfectly responsive, your eyes grow heavy. He provides you with your favorite, much-needed pressure. 

You've watched him use this very same hand to solder metal and create machinery. The device could heat to a temperature a thousand times hotter than it is now, it's capable of firing off a single ray of concentrated energy potent enough to slice through steel. And he has that hand wrapped right around your neck. 

Fuck, that shouldn't excite you. It shouldn't have you quivering more and whimpering, shaking while you try your best to keep meeting his eyes, all because you so desperately want to hear him speak again. Praising you — You are doing so well for me, so pliant, so adorable. Or scolding you — Pathetic, aren't you? Quivering like a rabbit, and all it took was a little brush with danger. You are amusing. 

Whichever he prefers. Because Viktor is so much stronger, so much smarter, and it hardly matters what he chooses to say, when any and all of it still gets you off. 

Deep within your heart, you know he'd never hurt you. He would take away your pain if you asked it of him, so you wouldn't have to feel it again. His words can be sharp, simply because he wants to protect you. He wouldn't even attempt to put his hand on your throat like this if he didn't have complete, total control over the Hexclaw's laser. Carefully, he observes your every movement for any sign of discomfort, calculating and controlling each aspect of your pleasure — and it only serves to make your heart pound faster. 

Of course, he can tell when you start to truly shake. He knows every inch of you is melting with overstimulation, and he's going to give you more. 

"Take it. I know you are capable." His voice gives you goosebumps, while his fingers press into you shallowly, but the smallest movements are more than enough to make a mess of you. "There, perfect, you are performing excellently. Relax. Continue breathing deeply, nice and slow breaths. I will take care of you, love." 

Love. 

"Don't-" You choke, trying to keep your eyes on his despite the way your vision wavers and blurs; your reaction is immediate, predictable, and instantly satisfying. "Don't stop…" 

You're beautiful like this, when you're underneath him. Since his enhancements, compared to his new body, you are now much smaller. He had to learn to adjust to the touches you need, to be gentle. Like you once were with him. Your roles, reversed in such a crucial way. You are undoubtedly strong in your own right, but when it comes to him, you are as sensitive as you are receptive. He needed to study how to keep from holding you too tightly, how to regulate his temperature to not burn your skin underneath his hands. 

You are a pretty sculpture of quivering limbs and glistening skin. Your chest heaving, eyes fluttering. As beautiful as you were back then, before this. Before he lost the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, before feelings on their own became mere faded memories. His iron consequence, locking away his dying love. 

He gives you another. Three fingers press inside your dripping cunt, stretching you, filling you. A hand grips your side, his third lightly squeezing your throat — he works your pleasure for all it's worth, and has you gasping as he wrings out your aftershocks. 

Viktor's mouth can't help but twitch into the slightest smile. "Look at you. You are worthy of the world." 

He would give it all to you. 

The Machine Herald will have this city in his hands. His vision is moving fast and accomplishing much, so it is only a matter of time. If you wanted more, he'd just have to reach even further. Relinquishing his human emotions left him without the need to be happy, nor content. But you, your happiness, keeping you safe, seeing you smile. It is stupid, foolish, doesn't make sense; his mechanics stutter, until he thinks he is choking on his own contradictory tenderness. 

His body is betraying his mind. There is heat at his center, more than the normal amount emitted by his internal components. A very human, very filthy amount of heat. His skin underneath his armor is flushed and warm, his chest is aching from the weight of your heavy destruction. You are destroying him, and he can do nothing but allow it. 

"I missed you," You murmur earnestly, voice weak, close to shattering. Your eyes are closed. Why, why are those words making his hands and his limbs and his heart shudder? "I missed you so bad- don't stop, keep fucking me Viktor- don't, please don't stop talking…" 

Is that what you're imagining? 

So he doesn't stop. 

As you fall back against the table, Viktor removing the Hexclaw and letting go of your neck, he leans in to speak right against your ear. "I am proud of you, lubov. Infiltrating Piltover must not have been simple. You brought me more than I required, you did so with much efficiency. And you returned to me safely. Allow me to reward you. Fall apart for me, cum like I know you so desperately need to." 

Your body curls, your hands move to his shoulders and grip them impossibly tight in an attempt to keep yourself steady. "Vik- Viktor-" You're gasping, you're close, "Kiss me, please kiss me-" 

His hand holds your chin, the cool, rigid steel of his thumb swipes over your bottom lip; teasing you, making you whimper. Sliding further, into your mouth, until you're tasting the sharpness of metal. Until you're gently sucking, feeling the intricately crafted notches and joints on your tongue. When he pulls it out and kisses you hard, when his lips press to yours and your high-pitched moans become muffled on his mouth, you cum on his fingers hard enough to see the afterimage of stars. 

He's trailing kisses down your jaw while you pulse around him, your thighs shaking, your head tilting to let his mouth find your throat. In the wake of his soft kisses, his foggy breath, you melt, and fully succumb to your shuddering high. 

Working you back down is a slow, patient process. A kiss onto your neck for every gasp you take in, the feeling of gentle teeth once your body starts to fully relax. Everything you've wanted, everything you missed; far too tender for who he's become. 

There are faint marks on your neck by the time he pulls away. Signs he was there. Proof he is softer than he is meant to be. 

You could stop here. Instead, the next few moments happen in their own special space of reality. 

Away from this city, away from his lab. A different plane made for just the two of you. Your mind feels dizzy, heavy. Viktor meets your gaze, momentarily scanning your face, waiting to make sure you've calmed. 

He is all you can think of, all that has ever mattered. And even when he is right here, you miss him so, so much. 

You tremble from the end of your spine to the top of your shoulders when he carefully pulls his fingers from you. He brushes his palm from your thigh to your side in one steady, soothing motion. You can feel the scars on his palm, the slight hesitant tremor to his still-slick fingers. You're reaching up, palm pressing to his chest. You absently feel the various ridges of metal. Smooth to the touch, armor radiating the faintest flickers of heat. 

He glances down, watching your movement as your palm brushes further, further. Delicate fingertips trail the dips and outlines that continue down his stomach. Eventually, you reach as far as your arm will let you, your fingers drawing circles onto the rib-like sections of steel crossing just above his hips. As he glances back up to you, he finds your soft, pleading gaze to be already looking at him. As sweet as he's always remembered. 

Your breathing is heavy. "Vik," You're begging, "We shouldn't- I'm sorry. This is stupid. I know we should stop, but…" 

He is going to regret this. 

Before he can stop himself, before his mind and his systems can even be led to form a single rational thought, Viktor is pressing the palm of his Hexarm just above your head, flat to the table. He is leaning over you, he is finding your cheek with a soft hand and a gentle touch. He's pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours, and he knows you're right — you shouldn't continue. He shouldn't allow this. 

Machines do not feel. The Machine Herald feels nothing, and wants for nothing besides evolution. But Gods, you're kissing him like his lips are a drug, all you need after wanting to kiss him for so, so long. Since before you both became dim shells of what you once were. Your legs are wrapping around him, your fingers are brushing his face with such devastating tenderness, and Viktor believes he is feeling everything. 

He's reaching down between your gasps for breath that make gaps in your kisses, and he's deftly activating a set of small, circular mechanisms on either of his sides. The armor on his chest unlatches with a clicking noise, platings becoming loose, unaligned. 

The larger, more cumbersome sections of his armor, including his gauntlets, cape, and shoulder pieces have been discarded from the start, making the portion of chest armor come off as two simple halves. He has to pull away, sit up straight, and partially slide off of you to remove it all the way. Both pieces of armor hit the ground with a particularly heavy thud. 

Most of his body has been replaced. Underneath the metal armor, there's just more metal; sections of iron that've been fused to replace muscle and skin, alloyed parts that reinforce his thin frame. 

You have only seen him like this once. He was fixing some miscalibrated platings on his side, a wrench in one hand, the Hexclaw's laser busy welding a suitable replacement. Two thirds machine, and one part still human, he was definitely much different from what you remembered. Still, there were small sections of pale skin on his back, split where his spine had been reconstructed. And jagged scars, adorned by faint, dark moles. His messy hair still falls around his face just like you remember it. 

You wanted to touch — he says he can't feel, but would he sense your fingertips as they traced his scars, would he shudder as your hands felt his skin? If you kissed what remained of him, his hand and each of his fingers, his back and each of those pretty moles, his chest down to his stomach, could you alight new sensations in him? 

You've never wanted to touch him more than in this moment. 

The bottom portion of his armor comes off much easier, leaving just the thick sections that cover his thighs down to his legs, including the steel brace mechanism. You're only able to catch the faintest glimpse, before he's pulling you into another deep kiss — a kiss that burns with every moment lost, his body pressing you against the table and beneath him. Your arms wrap around him, palms trailing across his back. 

As they've always longed for, your fingertips feel the back of his neck: the ridges and hard edges of his spine, the solid base of the Hexarm, his soft skin. Viktor physically shudders. When one of your hands tangles in his hair while the other falls, landing upturned beside you, he kisses you harder, he absently finds your hand and holds it in his. Your fingers lace together. His hand feels so warm, still slightly larger than yours. His skin is scarred, your thumb brushing over calloused knuckles and thin, purple veins. Every touch is so tender, earnest, human, it's nearly unbearable. Your hand was meant to be in his. Even if it won't last. 

It's a strange sensation, when his body presses ever closer to your own. Metal leads down from his navel, across to his pelvis, trailing underneath the armor on his thighs as one smooth, solid construction. Partially welded into his skin, but seemingly designed to make some sections removable. It is warm like the rest of him, designed with faint ridges and indents. 

Your legs, locked around him at the ankles, encourage him to press ever-closer. He devours you, kissing you deeper than you thought possible. You sigh against his mouth, and hold on tightly to his hair. His body rocks against yours in an instinctual, clumsy motion. Close, pressing, grinding. Warm metal and those perfect little ridges grind between your legs, against your core, against your clit. And you practically jolt. 

Oh. You break away from the kiss to toss your head back with a breathy, pretty noise. Pleasure threads through you, thick and unrelenting. 

Viktor mumbles something that barely registers in your ringing ears: Should stop, you manage to make out. And then, Are you alright? 

"Yes, I just-" You mumble, panting hard, "Don't. Don't stop." 

So Viktor grasps your waist in a tight, yet careful grip. His eyes never leave yours, gaze burning with a fire you've never once seen. He guides you to press against him, grinds his body against yours until you're making a mess of the metal. Until the faint ridges are nudging your swollen clit just right, until the heat of the iron is burning through you, into you, and your slick arousal is glistening on the steel. 

Your mind and heart are racing. 

"Oh, fuck-" You're swearing, your words surely seeming broken; he finds your cheek, he tilts your head up towards him, and you can't decide if the gesture is tender, or possessive. "I need you, I really, really do." 

His body feels as though he just touched the surface of the sun, and Viktor hardly knows if the warmth is coming from his overloaded systems, or if it's surrounding him, heat drawn thickly from the friction between the two of you. Perhaps it's a mix of both. 

Either way, he is losing himself. It's all happening so terribly fast; when his body rolls against yours, and you whimper through a filthy utterance of his name, there is a clear, undeniable response. A tingling in his veins, an eager sensation that shoots from his back to his chest to his core, consuming everything like a wildfire, and threatening to envelop all of him. 

He doesn't even know what to do with this. How to silence these disruptions, how to get his stupid brain to stop picturing you shuddering beneath his form as he presses against you, presses inside you, and brands every inch of you with his own name — 

"Milaya," Viktor hums, and you swear, his tone sounds lighter, his voice sounds strained. "I have always needed you. I'm not- No, I want- I shouldn't…" 

Trailing off when you cry out, he swallows. His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he continues to guide you towards him. Sweat beads on your chest, your thighs. He instructs, partially shakily, "Keep looking at me. Please." 

You've rarely heard him stutter or falter, never seen him anywhere close to worked up. You hardly knew if he had the capacity to feel this way, even though he certainly wasn't built to, even though he definitely isn't supposed to. And isn't it all because of you? 

The way your gaze locks with his as he rhythmically rocks against you has your heart skipping beats. There's a slight softness to his cold eyes, to his expression, that you're sure no-one else has seen before. Not since back then. You are impossible to resist, and this definitely needs to stop, this is definitely too far — it's going even further when your hand reaches down, fingertips clumsily tracing the edges of the metal seared into his navel. 

He knows what you want. You're greedy, a glutton for punishment, a sweet, terrible fool. But if he's honest with himself, perhaps he is worse. You are pleading his name again, the sound echoing unendingly in his ears, and Viktor is removing the front-most section of the metal enhancement: a thin plate that forms a triangular shape from his hips, all the way down. 

When he presses against your form, the next sensation to bleed into you is much different. It's smooth, soft latex, shoving against you. The last layer remaining between you and him and — 

And you can feel him. Straining hard and heavy against his underclothes. Firm and warm as he rocks into you, grinding all of him onto your throbbing cunt. You aren't thinking, you can't think anymore. Not when Viktor is hard, and when your heartbeat is so damn loud in your ears, you couldn't possibly hear anything else. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, your chest pleasantly aching. Pleasure welds with emotion, walking the same shaky line, until your heart is unfurling with delicate petals that fill your throat sweetly, consuming you wholeheartedly, "I love you." 

If Viktor's mechanized heart was still capable of faltering from its pre-programmed rhythm, he's sure it would be fucking pounding. 

Every part of him is set alight. Burning, he feels smoke in his throat, and swears he tastes fire. He's overloading, practically overheating, like a fragile body trembling with need and want, like a system with too many programs open at once — and oh Gods, it just keeps opening more. His vision has long since gone blurry, and every sound in his ears is thick, as though he's been submerged in deep water. 

How long have you wanted to say those words? He thinks of quiet days spent with you in Piltover, the lingering glances and faint touches he tried his hardest to forget. 

How long has he needed to hear you say them? 

Honestly, he could cry, if he was at all still capable of crying. His mind is a mess. Heat is threading through his circuits, devotion and desire, a terrible softness; he's so soft inside, it hurts. It actually hurts, and he believed he taught himself how to forgo any pain. 

Electricity and faulty Hextech sizzle in his core, radiating, echoing. His damn foolish, worthless, synthetic heart. He needs to hold you, fuck you, break you. To encode this sensation into his head and his blood, because forgetting the way your voice strummed those words would be worse than admitting he is too weak to discard them. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

He doesn't deserve this. He was not built to love. Love should be thrown out, along with everything else. Love is a weakness. You may be fine with placing your heart on railway tracks, you might not think twice before putting yourself in danger, but if anything were to happen to you, he might be entirely consumed. 

With his mechanized existence, he could soon become immortal. This longing would surely stick with him after you're gone, an eternity of something he could never understand. Swallowing him whole, holding onto him tight. Endlessly painful. But right now, when he is here and stuck in a dream at the same time, when he is more of himself than he has ever been, and you are all that exists in his veins, could he ever manage to stop? 

You are so close to so much more. So close to ruining everything — just one last layer, one more touch. One movement, one press of his palms to your figure before he slides into you, one last massive, unfixable mistake. 

"Vik, please, please, I'm-" You can barely hold on anymore, as much as you've been trying to. You curl into him, grinding back against him hard; "I can't, I can't fucking- hhah- I'm so close-" 

Your bodies rock together desperately, beckoning and wanting more of what they shouldn't have. His heat radiates into your skin, and your breath fills the air in thick, heavy huffs. You're still so wet, and it makes every movement slick and simple. Your hands feel his back, his shoulders, his steel jaw, his face. Anywhere you can touch, you're making the most of it. 

Viktor finds your chin, he holds it delicately, and when he says your name, it feels personal; devastatingly so. Like he could make a home with the familiarity laced through each syllable. He breathes them like he did back then, coveting you so deeply. Muttering it as one final plea. 

If he can't fix this, perhaps you can reconstruct this part of him. Could you show him how to live again, could you instruct his mechanized heart, and finally teach it how to skip? 

"I have you," Viktor sighs, because he's sure you want to hear his words as much as he needs to say them. He doesn't require a working heart, when he can let all of himself echo through his still-human soul. "I love you." 

Your chest bruises with sparks in the wake of his gentle voice. Still somewhat robotic. Spoken as though each individual, inevitable word is one he is learning to speak. I. Love. You. 

Your legs and arms wrap around him, holding him as close to you as he could possibly get. Exhaling shakily, your whines are broken, your nails digging into his back. They'll leave red marks onto his pale skin; he hopes they do. His chest is pressed right up to yours. Viktor allows his forehead to rest just barely against your own, utterly tender, and he melts, as your thudding heartbeat echoes through him. Body to body, scarred skin on softer skin. Delicate limbs held around a partial chassis of firm, strong metal. 

Helpless. Perhaps for you, he is the helpless one. 

It doesn't matter; everything is crumbling away, and the both of you are thrown right back into reality, because you are falling apart for him at last. One last time. 

You shake, liquid hot pleasure drips over you like burning wax, and you're left at the mercy of your blistering, final high. Another few deep grinds into each other are all you need — the both of you throbbing, his jaw tensing, Hexclaw twitching, stiffening, and radiating a powerful amount of heat. His eyes flutter, the artificial glow behind them flickering like a dying lightbulb. You hold onto him tighter, and he lets go of a slight noise. A quiet, shaky, all too desperate moan. 

You stay rocking against one another even while you're cumming, even after your voice is sore from chanting Viktor's name so loudly, you briefly worry that anyone just outside of his lab might've heard you. 

Finally stopping, you only begin to relax once your whole body is entirely spent. 

You breathe slowly. In, and then out. Deep, calming breaths. Your heart pounds with force. The room refocuses around you, the harsh light of his various lamps burning into the back of your eyelids and making you see colorful spots. Viktor waits a few moments, before he shakily pushes up to prop himself above you. 

There's a hum of ambient, grinding metal coming from him. The hiss of steam. The echo of small shudders, and forceful gasps. Your vision is still fuzzy, your limbs incredibly weak, but you notice when he reaches for something; the thin metal plating, which he secures back onto himself. 

Once your eyes are completely clear and your heart is beating to a normal tune, you're finally able to focus on him above you. In barely any time, with a half-machine's perfected efficiency, Viktor has already regained every last aspect of his composure. 

"Stay. You require rest," He instructs matter-of-factly, his tone filled with his usual sternness. His gaze scans you up and down methodically. "I will supply you with a change of clothes." 

Right. Viktor's heart can't shudder like yours. Soft sensations have no need to linger. You'd almost forgotten. This is what you were always bound to return to: you, an ally. And he is just a machine. 

Through heavy, lovesick eyes, you admire the sight of him above you. His thin figure, enthralled in shadow, light reflecting off of the metal sections of his outline. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, a gesture you find particularly endearing and human. 

"Oh, don't worry," You hum casually, stretching your arms and legs out. Your voice is light, foggy and still weak. The table beneath you feels firm against your back, but with how lightweight your whole body feels, you couldn't care less. "I don't think I'm moving even if I wanted to." 

Viktor raises a brow just slightly. He taps your neck with a single smooth, metal finger. "And something needs to be done about these." 

Briefly, your expression shifts into confusion. You tilt your head, allowing his fingers to trail further, and they examine the base of your neck down to your collarbones; the marks he left on your skin are swiftly darkening, forming blotchy, pretty bruises. 

Realizing what he's getting at, you smile smugly. "Worried someone's gonna ask questions?" 

"Half of Zaun acknowledges you as my right hand. I am not worried. But they will ask. It could prove arduous." Viktor explains, his tone exceedingly controlled. "Come. Hold onto me." 

When you don't immediately move, he stares at you expectantly. So, despite your tiredness, you listen, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his middle loosely. Viktor lifts you with ease. His heavy boots clunk with each step, and he carries you just a few paces from the table, setting you down on your back, and onto the familiar, ripped-up leather couch. It shifts, accommodating your weight and his. Compared to the worktable, when your back hits the soft yet worn cushions, you feel like you're resting on clouds. 

Viktor shifts, starting to move away, but you keep your arms wrapped around him, and speak before he has the chance. 

"Vik…" You're purring, "Stay here." 

A brief look of contemplation crosses his face, categorized by the slightest pinch in his thick brows. You smile, and nearly wind up kissing him again. He doesn't attempt to pull apart from you when you drag him closer to yourself, your lips gently brushing his cheek. 

At first, he's overly stiff. His arm fits underneath your back to hold you out of mere obligation. In contrast, his metal arm is kept beside you, refusing to touch, steel-jointed fingers flexing absently. But once your hands trail up, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, before they run through his hair, he honestly, earnestly relaxes. 

Your body underneath him is comforting. Limbs entangled, your legs brushing steel and the rigid metal brace. His head leans gently into the crook of your neck, almost hesitantly, as though he isn't entirely sure where to place it. He can't help but fall against you, bodies pressed into one another naturally enough to form the same grave. If he ever came face to face with death, he would refuse to accept it, unless it was just like this. 

You let your tired eyes close. You allow yourself to focus on his warmth, on the weight of him, and you can almost pretend this is natural. That you are in the past, or perhaps residing in a much different future. You are both lovers, as you wished you would be; simple and uncomplicated, nothing more, resting together in the dizzying comfort of your afterglow. 

It'd be nice. Nicer than anything you've been afforded. The only problem is Viktor is all firm steel and hard edges. His metal hand shifts to hold your side, and his fingers are digging into your skin, gripping a bit too tight. His weight on yours is making it damn near difficult to breathe. And right now, he is very, very hot. 

You frown, your eyes fluttering open again. "You're overheating." 

"My internal temperature is regulated by a liquid cooling apparatus," Viktor murmurs, after a moment. "It seems to be malfunctioning." 

His voice is smooth, as it always is, but it sounds much warmer, much quieter, when it's spoken this close to your ear. You sigh softly, and shuffle a little under him, trying to get more comfortable. 

"Ah. That sounds concerning." 

"The device will adjust itself in time," Viktor clarifies. "If it does not, repairs will take a few minutes, at most." 

Your fingertips brush over his back. They feel the thick ridges of his spine, and the thin steel shape of the Hexclaw's base. It feels cool and lifeless under your palm. "This is cold, though." 

"It is inoperational. It stopped responding, I will need to reset it individually." 

"That so?" You huff in response, laughing a little. You hold onto him tighter, and lean your head into his shoulder. "Whatever. Just don't let go of me." 

He doesn't. You exhale a long, weak breath. Your hands tremble slightly, as they uselessly grip onto the sections of cold steel that frame his shoulders. Viktor stays perfectly still, and he allows you to hold onto him as tightly as you need to. This might be the last moment you'll have together. For a while, at least. He has much to attend to, after this. Some tasks he can work on at your side, with your assistance, preferably. Some missions he must complete alone. 

The next time you speak, your voice is so fragile, he thinks he should be holding it in his palms. Or else it'll break. 

"We shouldn't- or, I guess I shouldn't have said… you know." You shudder, shaking all over before you tense. You're holding him too close to allow him to see your face, but he can picture your expression: slightly playful, to attempt to hide your uncertainty. "Gods, I'm so stupid. But I meant it. And I just-" You laugh, "I'm sorry, Viktor. Maybe you were right. I've been way too reckless." 

Viktor has no need to ponder his answer. "I know. Don't apologize. You should be resting, our conversation can continue tomorrow." 

You breathe deeply, and he quietly murmurs, his voice echoing through your ears, "I love you, milaya." 

Fake. Expected. A ghost of choked-back emotions, of all-too tender moments already slated to become forgotten memories. But something is there, something that tells you he's trying. For now, you'll take it. It's more than enough. 

You are close to falling asleep; every one of your nerves, washed over by warm, inviting waves, enveloped in his persistent heat. As though he can sense your building exhaustion, Viktor rubs your back with slow, reassuring circles — as best he can manage, considering your shapes are pinned too close together. Your breathing evens out, and you relax into his touch. Your mind feels as heavy as your weary, weak limbs. 

Your love would be soft, he considers, distracted. Gentless personified, warm like your smile, like the radiant sun shining down on one's skin. Patient and alighting. Like being pulled by the wrists, wrested out of a rocky, dark sea — finally alive, and finally able to breathe. The still-human part of him feels in measures of softness. The mechanical part is much, much different. 

Heat is running through his veins. It's racing through his system, and he knows it isn't from any sort of malfunction. It burns. The taste of it is like sharp blood on his tongue, it spins in his head like the dizzy grinding of gears, sears through him with fraying wires and sizzling static. Pain and softness, forming a mix he might certainly call love, but might also swear to remove. 

There's a certain sharpness gnawing at him. A flickering, raw bruise, brutalizing him from between his ribs, regardless of his attempts to try and ignore it. Your efforts are failing. You are feeling, and that means you have failed. Even dying embers burn out the same as raging flames. 

You've drifted off, it would seem, your breathing slow, your body limp. So Viktor holds you just a bit tighter. 

For once, for the first time since he truly decided who he wanted to be and what he wanted to accomplish, he is lost. 

In the end, he is going to have to make a decision. One that will benefit his vision. Or one that will destroy him from the inside out. He must carve out these distractions, remove the sections of his heart that are faulty, or he must learn what it would mean to embrace them. 

It scares him, truly. Viktor, the Machine Herald, genuinely scared over something meant to be so trivial. Fretting over the one person he never wanted to lose, even though he was sure he'd already lost you. He wonders what his opposition would say, what those who view him as soulless might think, if they knew the truth. And if you knew? 

Just having to tell you, forcing himself to push you away, or coming face to face once more after he's altered his brain to completely forget you — No, the thought alone might be enough to seal his fate. 

He'll make up his mind before you wake. His head will become clearer, eventually. When your voice is gone from his ears, when your phantom touches tracing his skin have finally disappeared. Besides, this moment won't last, and he wants to savor what's left of it. 

Whatever happens next, wherever he takes this, he knows you will follow — to a different path, to a better future. Or to the ends of the earth. 

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[spectorgram]

FAN BEHAVIOR

characters: dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake summary: batboys with a celebrity! reader content/warnings: fem! reader, fluff

DICK GRAYSON

You’re an actress who has had a meteoric rise, moving from doing small, one-off parts in TV shows to becoming a breakout star on a particularly popular series to being cast in major movie productions

Your stardom is still a little surreal to you and when you’re invited to a wayne enterprise charity gala, you contemplate not going — what business do you have being somewhere with people far more famous than you? But when you tell your agent this, she gives you a look that says you’re insane for even considering declining

You’ll forever be grateful that she urged you to do so because that’s where you meet Dick

He’s standing with Bruce Wayne, chatting with some frequent donors, dressed in a perfectly-tailored navy blue suit when he sees you out of the corner of his eye and he lights up. He approaches you first with that megawatt smile and introduces himself with an extended hand and says, “I’m a huge fan! I’ve been watching your stuff since you were in Legends of the Kingdom!” And the rest is history

Dick goes to every red carpet event you invite him to and he makes it a point to attend every private premiere screening and public opening night

He definitely shushes anyone who talks during your movies or TV shows and does not care if people think he’s obnoxious.

You’re definitely the ‘it couple’ and your faces are plastered constantly on magazine covers and two-page spreads

There are people who try to sow discord in your relationship and their go-to is either pointing out how different you are to Dick’s former girlfriends; that you’re not his type, that this isn’t going to last, etc., or that you’re not talented enough for the fame you have or to be dating Dick Grayson

It definitely gets to you and does nothing to whatever lingering imposter syndrome you harbor but Dick is such a grounding force, reminding you that it’s all just noise and that he loves you completely and unconditionally

At home, he likes to rewind your scenes in shows and movies, and it flatters you as much as it flusters you

He also likes to read through scripts with you when he can and his voices for the various other characters bring you to tears from laughter 

So many intentional and unintentional thirst trap couples pics. Like, a selfie you post one morning — Dick is shirtless and you’re in one of his old t-shirts and its sliding down your shoulder and showing your collarbone and you’re both laying on your stomachs in your shared bed, hair sleep (and sex) tousled with the morning sun making both of you look like you’re golden and glowing 

JASON TODD

You meet Jason as Red Hood first when you’re running from the paparazzi but you don’t know it’s him

They chase you down a couple of blocks before someone tugs you into an alleyway and you’re about to scream for help when you see who it is. Red Hood shields you as the paparazzi pass and when you ask him why he helped you, he simply says, “I hate the paps and you looked like you needed a hand.”

Once he’s sure the coast is clear, he walks you back to your hotel using the back alleys of Gotham. You make several attempts to strike a conversation up with him in the first few minutes of your walk but what seems to catch his interest is when you start rambling on about just finishing Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. 

You’re disappointed when you arrive at your hotel and you’re rush inside to find a pad to scribble your number on but he’s gone when you return, disappearing into the night

It’s by chance that you meet him again (unbeknownst to you), this time in his civilian identity as Jason Todd. You’re in disguise at a bookstore in Gotham when you bump into him and spill his iced coffee all over both of you, apologizing profusely and offering to buy him another drink, which he accepts. (His voice is oddly familiar to you but you can’t put your finger on why) 

You two keep in touch and start dating privately. The long-distance is difficult at times given your very different and busy schedules and Jason is pretty cagey about what he does but you both make time for each other as much as possible

He tells you that he listens to your music during his workouts and in the background while he’s doing stuff around his apartment. He hums along too.

He recommends your songs to anyone who listens, which raises suspicions in the Batfam, and it obviously doesn’t take long for them to figure out that he’s dating you but he makes them promise to keep it to themselves. 

Whenever you have a concert in Gotham, which you make a point to do frequently, Jason is in the VIP box, bobbing his head and mouthing along to your songs. When it ends, he’s right there backstage with flowers and a thermos of tea for your throat

Your relationship goes public when fans capture of video of you two leaving one of your concerts together, Jason’s leather jacket draped over your shoulders

You eventually move to Gotham to be closer to him and the two of you spend every free moment either of you have together, making up for lost time. 

You still try to keep your relationship as private as possible but fans eat up any crumbs they get, including the occasional selfie of you both 

He is your biggest inspiration for songs and also your biggest help. You love bouncing ideas off of him and he likes sitting with you when you pick at your guitar strings and mumble a half-formed melody

(You eventually do find out that he’s Red Hood when he tumbles through the window of your bedroom, bleeding profusely, and you have to take his helmet off to assess the damage)

TIM DRAKE

You’ve known Tim since you were kids given that your parents ran in the same social circles

You started out as a child model in department store clothing catalogs. Tim did some shoots with you too but while his parents eventually stopped auditioning him for such jobs, you continued until the present day, and you’re now a well-known supermodel 

You two have been friends forever and the internet laps up your interactions together. There are compilations of videos and photos of the two of you at banquets and red carpet events and memes with text like “when will someone look at me like that?”

Before you two even started dating, there were articles about a supposed romance and sexual tension between you two. In interviews, you would vehemently deny anything asked about it and reiterate that you two are just good friends

At some point, however, you start seeing your childhood friend in a different light. He’s kind, brilliant, funny, attentive, and very handsome. It’s not that you didn’t know that before but it’s different now. You find yourself shying away his casual touches and suddenly conscious of your actions around him — did you laugh too loud? Is your hair in your face? Does he know how you feel? Can he tell?

You don’t want to ruin your friendship, as cliche as it sounds, so you did your best to keep your feelings under wraps, which resulted in you distancing yourself. When Tim would text to congratulate you on your latest Vogue cover or runway show, you would simply shoot a simple ‘thanks!’ text back instead of the usual ‘THANK U’ followed by five heart emojis. 

He confronts you about it one day and you’ve never really been a good liar in front of him so you tell him, bracing for a gentle rejection but instead receiving a kiss. 

You made a hard launch post with him on Instagram and received hundreds of DMs of people saying they were vindicated in believing that “friends don’t look at each other like that”

Tim is in the front row at every single runway show you have, dressed impeccably in an expensive suit. He takes pictures of you and visits you backstage with your favorite sweet treat.

After fashion shows and other events, you return to his apartment to let your hair down and put your feet up. You do your skincare routines together, sheet face mask and all, and snuggle on the couch for some TV or just to hang out and talk endlessly

You’re very active on social media with him and you two have a lot of couples posts together. When you both have time, you do Instagram lives where people watch you two make dinner together or answer some questions from viewers. A fan favorite is when you choose outfits for each other.

During a runway, you blow a kiss at Tim in the audience and the camera zooms in on his face, where he just watches you with a lovestruck expression and bright red ears — it’s in almost every video compilation that’s titled something like ‘15 minutes of Tim Drake being a simp’

[vipwinnie]

Sleeping after an argument

mattheo riddle x reader

Summary : you decided not to sleep with him after an argument

In the dimness of his room, you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy with frustration. The walls echo with the reverberations of an seemingly endless argument. He stands, a sharp gaze in his eyes, his poisoned words filling the air.

"Why are you always like this?" you ask, trying to contain your own anger. "Your attitude is toxic, Mattheo. It can't go on like this."

He sneers, an ironic smile distorting his face. "Oh, now it's my fault? You're always the victim, aren't you?"

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the flames of anger rising within you. "It's not about being a victim. It's about mutual respect. You can't keep acting this way."

Mattheo approaches, his presence oppressive. "Mutual respect? Funny coming from you. You just criticize me, judge me."

"Because you act disrespectfully! You constantly attack me, and I can't take it anymore."

He shrugs, disdainful. "If you can't take it, leave. No one is forcing you to stay."

The tension reaches its peak. You stand up, facing Mattheo with determination. "Maybe that's what I should do."

The words hang in the air, heavy with consequences. The room is filled with the silence that follows an argument, and you wonder if this confrontation marks the end of something, or perhaps the beginning of a new dynamic.

Frustrated by the atmosphere, Mattheo abruptly stands up and heads to the bathroom, using the excuse of needing to prepare in there to escape the confrontation. You remain in the room, Mattheo's dark look still echoing in the air. The decision not to spend the night in this toxic atmosphere takes hold in you, and you head to the bathroom as well.

Reflecting in the bathroom, you decide to leave the unresolved argument behind and choose not to sleep that night. The idea of returning to your shared room with Pansy becomes a tempting refuge. Exiting the bathroom, you silently slip through the hallway, deliberately avoiding Mattheo's room.

Meanwhile, Mattheo, after anxiously waiting in the bathroom for some time, starts to worry about your absence. Concerned, he knocks on the door, softly calling, "My love, are you okay?" Faced with your silence, he eventually opens the door, discovering that you're no longer there. Regret fills him as he realizes the impact of his behavior.

Determined to find you, Mattheo heads towards the girls' dormitory, disregarding any rules of decency. His only thought is to bring you back to him, suddenly realizing how crucial your presence is to him.

Upon opening the door to your room, he notices Pansy's absence, but you're there, asleep in your bed, hugging a pillow that was supposed to replace him for the night. Mattheo gently removes the pillow from your arms, slipping into its place. He embraces you tenderly, whispering an "I love you" in your ear, realizing the foolishness of the argument. He holds you tightly, hoping that you'll find it in yourself to forgive him despite the hurtful words he uttered.