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m0chisenpai · 4 months ago

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Hi, could you do a Louis x Fem!reader x Armand? Like something where they are both obsessed with her and maybe she a little oblivious even tho they give her what ever she wants. I love your others too by the way.🫶🏼

desires of the heart

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which she has two immortals wrapped around her little finger

Author note: this sounds similarish to a loumand fic I got previously so I’m gonna build onto that one

Time in the penthouse seems to move slower. The days and nights felt blurred from adjusting your schedule to the ‘vampires’ Daniel interviews. And with each passing day, more and more do the vampires find themselves falling deeper into your heart. It is your own fault for falling for a pair of supernatural fanatics, though now they have proved their inhumane nature.

You had their own dead ones in the palm of your hand yet you remained so oblivious to it.

You find yourself spending your time less in your room and more in their company as they begin to reach the end. Daniel mentions during one of your dinners together that he finds them to be stalling. Louis speaks slower, finds himself struggling to remember certain parts.

It irritates him, but as you sit across him barely touching your own meal Daniel ends his rushing.

“Those books, are the older ones right?” You watch Armand hover above in the collection looking for more pictures of Claudia for your personal “research”. In your spare time you’ve begun compiling information from her journals and diaries, looking for pictures to put a face to the voice of the woman trapped in a child’s body.

“Yes, some of these are beyond your time,” he looks down at you slowly allowing himself to settle in front of you. You push your frames back up the bridge of your nose so you can properly look at the elder vampire.

“Can I see them?”

Louis watches amused from his seat as Armand holds you close to show you the books. Slowly he glides back up with you in his arms following your direction till you pick a small stack to sit with Louis and look through.

These are older photographs from his years in New Orleans. Family pictures, pictures from his childhood.

"Aw what happened to the fro? That's the cutest baby afro I have seen!" you pout as Louis pulls a family picture out. And he rolls his eyes as you pull your phone to take a picture.

"Times were different," Louis rolls his eyes and you scoff at his vague response. You page through the album carefully with gloved hands as you look at the dearly cared aged photos.

"Is that him?" your eyes settle on a duo picture, him and his brother side by side. Louis can only nod, his lips pressed in a line as you stare. In the picture his brother stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. He remembers that day fondly. They bickered on what to wear and settle on a pair of their old father's suits. "He was handsome. Definitely a sweetheart, I can tell by how he's looking at you here in this one."

When you look up at you him, you smile "I see you take after him." Before Louis can respond one of the workers has entered. Interrupting your bubble of peace. "Mr.Molloy has requested you in his room ma'am."

Armand's face immediately ices over into a glare, his response fiery. "Tell Mr.Molloy if he wishes for his help to return he can come and get them himself. She is not a dog."

"It's alright, the old fart does this all the time in the office." You go to stand stretching your arms overhead and quickly rubbing your forearms for friction. You're cold, Louis observes the goosebumps across your freckled shoulders from the slouch neck sweater you wear.

When you are are out of ear shot Louis speaks to the worker.

"Have the shoppers come in tomorrow morning for Mr.Molloy's intern. The girl needs proper clothing. My companion will be there to assist further."

Much to Daniel's distaste. you are like a child in a candy shop pointing to sweaters from Ralph Lauren's upcoming fall collection. But he hides his distaste giving you a smile when you happily show him the sweater that was 'giving Rory Gilmore but I wear it better.' Armand sits watching as you soar through racks and picking your items of choice.

You hesitate when a woman approaches holding a cases of lenses, "we offer these in prescription of course."

"Oh no these are fine."

"Pick one." Armand finally speaks up. When you look at him he is now sitting up, but the way he sits with his legs crossed, an arm draped across the back while the other rests atop his knee. His eyes a show of dominance, as if daring you to say no to him.

You settle on a thick marbled brown pair. But he stands to move in front of you, picking up a few for you to try. You try on several till you are pushing his hands away.

"The jade green ones as well as the golden wired ones for her," you grumble watching as he picks up the two for the woman to box. "We will have your prescription sent as soon as possible."

"Thank you but, this a bit much for a few days stay."

"We have no issue providing you your comforts whilst you work on the novel."

"Ok but-"

He raises a brow that silences any opposition. When you offer no more pushback, Armand places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the women who begin to drape you in abayas and scarves for your hair.

Daniel can only huff and look back to his laptop.

'CLEARLY three idiots in love with one another. Female is too incompetent to discern vampires obsession, affections.' He underlines idiots smirking to himself as he scribbles more notes about the three of you down.

You're nearing the end of the interviews. You can tell cause they spend any bit of time of the days glued to your side. You don't bring it up, you accidentally mentioned it in passing to Louis and his entire demeanor once so warm and gentle became...rigid.

He didn’t speak to you that night, but Armand was there to placate your worries.

Louis sits beside you on the couch now. Watching you listen and take notes. One earbud while your hand stops and moves to write at the most random of moments.

He’s eerily still with the only movement behind his eyes watching and hearing every single thing.

These days he's more brazen in his affections. Sitting closer, allowing his hand to linger when he passes your chai, playing with the baby curls at the nape of your neck. But there is something even more intimate as he sits beside you, watching you.

"Gonna keep staring me down like a creep?"

His lips perk up, "sorry cher. Just memorizing your face."

Your fingers stop typing, your train of thought halts for a second till they both return at the steady pace you had going. You’ll give him that one, your heart did feel fuzzy. But you’ll be damned to cry.

"Can a vampire love?"

Louis shifts a bit in his seat tilting his head upward, you wonder if he is avoiding your gaze or truly in thought. "I believe we feel immensely. Everything feels...deeper. Almost too much if I am quite honest. I think that’s why so many of us choose the sleep. These feelings are magnified."

Now it’s your turn to look up. "But if your entire being is dead, what is it that allows you to feel again? Your heart no longer works, your brain must not function, or maybe it does. But you are dead. How can the dead feel?"

Ah, that mind of yours. Louis loved it deeply. His eyes flicker to his joined palms till they return on you.

"I've heard stories, seen elder vampires that lived many lifetimes take their life because of the loneliness. At times, I myself felt it. It’s the silence, but as I said before you feel it double, he’ll even triple than the loneliness you may feel at times. Had our feelings died with us, then I do not think they would put an end to themselves."

You nod, pausing for a moment again. To feel that much it’s scary. It must be even scarier to love. Falling in love now, heartbreak even feels like it takes over your whole body. But to feel that even more, how can anyone survive through that?

"I feel it too," you pause for a moment, "it's the worst." When Louis doesn’t respond, you blank your lack of sleep or the stress of work that leaves you open and vulnerable. “I don’t think I could survive it. Loving at least. It hurts and it’s always taking. Leaving you high and dry in the end. I don’t….i couldn’t handle that again.”

Though Louis respects your boundaries, he feels the buzz in your bones. He hears the tremor in your voice, sees the mist of tears sitting in your eyes. A desire sitting on your lips. “What do you need?” It comes out as a whisper, yet it feels so loud.

And your response is just as quiet, “can you…can you just hold me. Please, Louis.”

The laptop shut and atop the table, and he is holding you close. Your eyes slowly fall shut as you wrap your arms back around him. He pulls you atop him and you squeeze him back hiding your face in the nook of his shoulder.

He must be shushing you or speaking but you can’t hear it, all you can do is soak this in.

You feel complete again, so whole.

#Loumand x reader #louis x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader #armand x reader #Louis x reader x Armand #iwtv x reader #Iwtv #journalist!reader

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ghouldump · 4 months ago

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Love Me | Lestat de Lioncourt x Bi!Reader

ෆ as your companionship seems to be failing, you retreat, seeking comfort from a woman who looks awfully similar.

a short fic from me to you. bi reader, as well as rockstar lestat, has been high in demand. i actually accidentally deleted a few really good ones, but there i honestly write whenever i’m bored, so more is bound to come along.

Throwing the large book, you expected it to hit him in the head, but before it could connect, the book went left, falling onto the floor.

“How long will you continue this, ma chérie, you don't menstruate, so why must you go on like this? Hm, do you want to shop, a new handbag, shoes, a new boy toy?” Lestat asked, smirking. Behind the grin, he was incredibly frustrated. The two of you had been arguing for over an hour, and he didn't even know why.

“What does that have to do with anything? You always have to ridicule, when a problem is being addressed,” you screamed, a few tears escaping. As much as you tried to hold them back, the barrier was crumbling, as you grew angrier.

“Are you serious? What is the problem? Go on”

“That boy that you bought home, he looked like him-

“It was merely a coincidence”

“And the one before that, and before that, and many more. All of them resembled him, your Louis,” you whispered, wiping your tears.

“All of them were also drained and burned”

“After you fucked them,” you said, shaking your head as he chuckled.

“50 years, I have given myself to you, and you alone, but I haven't been enough, I’m not Louis”

“Y/n-

“You revealed your identity to the entire world for him. I let you turn me at only nineteen to fill your lonely void, and you’ve never told me you loved me, do you even love me?”

“What kind of point are you trying to prove? I told you, Louis and I had a very different relationship, than what you and I-

“Right, you loved him, and I was the replacement,” you laughed, grabbing your phone and handbag.

“Where are you going?”

“Out, text me from your iPad, if you need anything,” you grumbled. He was too much of an illiterate man-child to even learn how to use a phone, depending on you and Siri.

“The sun will be out soon”

“I won't be long,” you said, making sure to slam the door.

Your emotions were all over the place, angered at the terrible decisions you'd made over the years. You were a young party girl, in the 70s, when you met Lestat. It didn't take long before he was your boyfriend, and you were bragging to your friends about the sex. After months of dating, he confided in you about a weird call from his former lover’s partner, revealing his identity afterward. Soon, he asked you to join him in darkness, and immediately you agreed.

However, looking back, you felt like an idiot, you should've stayed away when the adults told you about the strangeness of Lestat. The rumors of him not aging, only being seen at night. You couldn't see past his charming personality or handsome face, to realize he was trying to fill the void Louis left.

Walking through the French Quarter, you maneuvered through the crowd. You rolled your eyes at all of the tourists, especially since the writer, Daniel Molloy came out with his book, people were flocking to the city.

Going into a random bar, you sat down, your eyes scanning the menu. Alcohol didn't have much of an effect on you, only making you slightly tipsy, but it was something that made you feel human.

“I bought your drink, the least you could do is give me your number,” you heard the man next to you say rudely.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

“A pineapple martini,” you said, handing him your card.

“I didn't ask you to,” the girl argued.

“Listen, I didn't spend $20 on an overpriced daiquiri just because you're cute-

“And I told you, I didn't ask you to buy it,” she argued.

“Can you two take that elsewhere, I don't want to hear all of that, while I enjoy my drink,” you said, tapping the man’s shoulder.

“No one cares, and keep your hands off-

The man stood from his seat, lunging forward to grab you next, when you caught his arm, twisting it. You watched the man in satisfaction, thinking of how men hadn't changed, even in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and so on — there were always the disgustingly perverted men.

“You don't know how to keep your hands to yourself, it’s gross, but it makes me feel less guilty for breaking your arm,” you said, shrugging before twisting his arm. He screamed in agony, holding his arm as he ran out of the bar, just as your martini was sat down, along with your card.

“Hey, thank you for that,” the woman started, as you sat down. By her accent alone, you knew she was a tourist.

“It was nothing,” you mumbled, twirling the little straw, focused on the drink.

“How did you do that? Do you take self defense classes?” she asked.

“No”

“Well, that was pretty impressive, I don't think I’ve ever seen-

“Lady, I just want to enjoy my drink-

Your eyes widened at the woman, she was perfect, she looked like Lestat, if he had been gender-swapped. Her blonde tresses were inches away from her waist, sky blue eyes, and full pink lips. Her bone structure was symmetrical, her straight teeth as white as milk. She dressed hyper feminine, wearing too much pink and white. You tried not to be weird, forcing your eyes to stop wandering, despite catching a glimpse of her toned body.

“I’m sorry, I know I can talk too much sometimes, sorry,” she apologized.

“You’re fine, I’m just in a shitty mood,” you shrugged.

“What’s wrong?”

“My partner is caught up on his ex, even though they broke up forever ago,” you admitted.

“Why do you hold on to him then?”

“Everything else is perfect about him, I can’t help but want to be loved by him,” you mumbled, thinking of Lestat. Since he revealed himself, he had been very busy, but when he wasn’t, his attention was on you. Waiting for him backstage, in the hotels, in his coffin, the quality time was incredibly intimate.

“If he’s as perfect as you claim, why are you here, obviously upset?” she asked, scooting closer.

“I don’t think I will ever come close to being loved as much as Louis,” you admitted, gulping down the pressure of the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching to touch your hand.

“I will be fine, are you new to New Orleans?” You asked, staring at her hand laid against your own.

“Yes, I’m Lisa by the way, but I want to move here, I’ll be out here for a few weeks, maybe we can hang out, you could be my personal tour guide,” she said, briefly biting her lip. In her thoughts, she was hopeful, wanting more than to spend time with you. You seemed mysterious and she was dying to know why.

“Y/n, What did you want to do?”

“See historical landmarks, try local cuisines, hang out with you,” she said, leaning towards you.

“Me?”

“A woman as beautiful as you deserves all of the attention”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you smirked, remaining still as she leaned closer, allowing her to press her lips against your own.

As you moved closer, your phone dinged, making you reach into your pocket. Pulling away, you rolled your eyes as you stared at the coffin emoji, paired with a question mark.

“I have to go,” you told her, going to stand.

“Could I have your number, we could hang out sometime, if you're free,” she said, fidgeting. Smirking, you couldn't help but think of how much she looked like him, yet acted completely different.

Laughing, you unlocked your phone, handing it to her. After her number was saved, you were making your way to the townhouse. The sun could be seen coming into view, and just as you began opening the door, you could feel the heat burning against your skin.

“I thought you wouldn't be long,” Lestat said from the top of the stairs, as the door was shut.

“I wasn't”

“You left nearly two hours ago,” he said, following behind you, as you walked past him, up the stairs.

“And I’m home, did you want to argue more?” you asked him, rudely. He was stunned by your tone, but recovered quickly.

“No, I wanted you to return to me, in perfect condition,” he said, watching as you stripped from the clothing, holding your phone near.

“I’m okay, it will heal,” you told him, feeling his eyes on your lightly burned shoulder. You didn't say anything else, climbing into your coffin, and he couldn't admit your already different behavior left him feeling embarrassed.

Just as your eyes were about to shut, your phone lit up, as Lisa’s message appeared on the screen, asking if you made it home safely. Lestat stared at your coffin, hearing the sound of you typing, before slowly moving to his own.

“Sleep well, ma chérie”

“You too,” you said, hearing the sound of his coffin closing.

Lestat was confused by the way you were acting. This wasn't the first and most likely wouldn't be the last time you'd get into an argument, but this time seemed different. You'd leave and eventually come home, and he'd pick a fight, and just as you started to argue back, he would apologize for his actions and everything would fall into place.

Now, just two hours later you acted completely standoffish with him, as if you didn't want to be bothered. Was the argument that serious to you? You understood the love he held for Louis, but that it was best that they remained friends alone. He was with you, he had been all these years, he cared for you, he lo-.

Lestat didn't know how to express himself, arguing, being jealous, possessive, then ravishing you with gifts, that's all he knew. What he didn't realize was his failure to comfort and reassure you, not taking you seriously, you were pulling you away, as you began to desire your needs elsewhere.

Immediately, Lestat could see the red flags going off, you were gone every night. Some nights before he even woke up, others you'd silently dress in front of him, before leaving. Even when he left for his music business, you always traveled with him, but now you had excuses.

He didn't want to follow you, but he had to, the jealous assumptions were beginning to pile up in his thoughts. Months, it had been months of you ignoring his presence. You’d look at him, hunt with him, and even talk with him if he wanted — but you weren’t putting your all into the relationship anymore. He was making the same mistake as he did with Louis. Choosing when the relationship could and couldn’t open.

He’d dabble in his different tastes regularly, no strings attached, usually killing the person after. You were different, the only way you’d have another person, was if Lestat was present. You weren’t as open to the idea of having others, and in a way, it satisfied Lestat knowing you would never sleep with another, or so he thought.

He had been following you, all the way to Gentilly, until you stopped at the unfamiliar house. His heart could have shattered, as he watched you through the window. The woman, you touched, touched in a way that was only meant for him.

He watched as you and this is unknown woman made love, his heart throbbing. The two of you, going on for what felt like hours, before you were both giggling, going into the bathroom. As the woman came out, grabbing a towel, Lestat was sure his dead heart would stop. This woman, she looked exactly like him, he couldn’t even say he looked better, because they resembled each other so much.

After your shared shower, you both plopped on the bed, holding each other. Your hearts full of passion towards each other.

“Y/n,” Lisa said, playing with your sharp nails.

“Hm?” You answered, your eyes closed. Her warm skin felt nice against your forever icy skin.

“I think I love you,” she said, making you open your eyes.

“What?” You asked, looking at her.

“I love you, I know it’s only been a few months, but that’s all I needed with you to know,” she said. You could feel the tears building up, as you pressed your lips against her own.

Staring at her, you could only see Lestat, the one who stole your heart all those years ago. No matter how idiotic you’re decision was, at the time. All you wanted was for him to declare his love for you, with his mouth.

“Say it again, please?” You asked her, as you pulled away.

“I love you,” she smiled brightly, smashing her lips into yours, as she pulled you back into a hug.

Lestat had tears pouring down his face, as he turned to leave. He didn’t think he could watch any more of whatever that was supposed to be. He couldn't take the idea of you being loving or being loved by another. All this started because of love, you claiming he didn't love you.

“Lisa, tell me you love me, once more,” you said, as you began to glamour her.

“I love you,” she exclaimed.

“No, you don't, you never met me, you won't recognize my face and you will never approach me, do you understand?” you asked her, watching as she silently nodded, you wiped the bloody tear from your eye, just as it escaped,

“Yes”

“You will sleep now, you're very tired,” you said, watching as she nodded, dozing off. She lay beautifully, as you covered her with the blanket. You couldn't replace him, even with the female doppelganger — especially with her. Lisa was a sweet girl, you didn't want to take away her life, revealing your nature, for your selfish reasons.

Leaving her home, you silently went back to your shared townhouse. It was quiet, Lestat already in his coffin, as you undressed.

“Good night,” you mumbled, getting into your coffin.

If this would be life, then you accepted it, second to Louis. You loved Lestat with every piece of your soul, so much that you could take not being loved, but being liked enough to be in his presence.

As the sun eventually left, you got up, dressing to go hunt. You found a random man, draining him in an alley, but as you made your way back home, your eyebrows furrowed. Entering the house, your eyes widened at the sight.

Exotic dancers, well over ten of them, all with wavy blonde hair and shades of blue eyes. A few of them were fawning at Lestat, but he paid none of them any kind of attention.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“For you, ma chérie, I’ll drain them, but I’ll let do whatever you please with them first,” he grinned.

“What are you talking about? Get them out, now,” you said, shrugging off a hand that was about to rub your shoulder. Watching as Lestat controlled them, sending them away, before he sat down, drained from the action.

“What is wrong with you? Bringing all of those women here? God, why don't you think,” you grumbled.

“I was just trying to appease your passions since they were more of your type, I mean, it only took a few months for you to find out,” he shrugged, making you realize he had been there.

“You can't be serious, you're such a creeper,” you laughed bitterly.

“For months, I’ve reached out to you, and you recoiled at my touch, just for me to find out you're having an affair with a woman, who looks too much like me”

“And how is that any different than what you've done?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I heard you both, making love to her, kissing her, touching her the way that you do me. Texting her throughout the day, you're in love with her,” Lestat cried.

“I’m in love with you, but you love Louis. I can't replace him, so I wanted to replace you,” you said, turning to storm away, when he caught your hand.

“I will always love Louis but don't think that I don't love you. You are my wife, my companion, the one who saved me from myself. I don't want to see you with another, only me,” he confessed. His face was covered in blood from the tears pouring down his face.

“And you have me, but you have to say it, I know you show it in your own ways, but to hear it from your lips, would help me so much,” you told him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I know, I am a hypocrite, but end your affair, I can't take knowing you love another, I love you” he pouted.

“Fine, you won't have to worry about her,” you told him, as he moved closer to embrace you. Swiftly, he lifted you, holding you in his arms.

“Are we made up now?”

“Yes, love”

“I don't know how much I could take of that excruciating cycle of neglect,” he expressed.

“Lestat?” you said, as he sat down, having you straddle his lap.

“Yes, chérie?”

“Tell me again, tell me you love me,” you said, sighing in fulfillment as his arms wrapped around your body.

“I love you and I’ll say it as many times as you need”

…

#interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat x reader #lestat de lioncourt #amc iwtv

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phyrestartr · 10 months ago

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Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader

Main Fic W/C: 5.9k Bonus Drabbles W/C: 1.6k

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, I KINDA EDITED BUT I JUST WANT THIS TO BE YEETED INTO THE OPEN OK BYE SORRY IF PARTS ARE CLUNKY]

@better-imagination-9 I summon thee

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as it was made out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I'm not.”

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor.

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–”

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.”

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room.

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane.

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted.

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.”

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat.

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too.

–

Ding.

He knew it was you. It had to be you. You were a good person, willing to let Uraume rest while you gave your ex the update he needed about his brother. After all, you didn't fear him, nor did you yearn to please him. You were more than capable of delivering shit news and getting off scotch free.

“So?” Sukuna took a deep puff from his cigar and leaned further into the balcony railing as you approached.

You hummed as you sidled up next to him, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as the breeze tugged at it. “He'll be fine. Yuuji's tough. He's a bit shaken up now that the adrenaline’s worn off, though.”

“Maybe that'll teach that idiot not to get shot.”

“Probably not.”

“Probably not,” Sukuna sighed, tapping off a dash of ash from the butt of his cigar just before it was plucked from his hands. “Oi.”

“These things'll kill you,” you scolded airily. “So will that.” You tried reaching for the crystalline glass of amber, too, when Sukuna scoffed and took a sip to spite you.

“Don't,” he snarled. Any normal omega would have backed away. Any normal omega would have keened. Any normal omega would have tried to please him up with a sweet scent of submission. But you were a different breed entirely.

“Don't growl at me–” you gaped as Sukuna downed the expensive liquor before whipping the glass at the skyline. “Sukuna.”

He stalked back into his penthouse with heavy steps as he ran his hands through his hair. He had to busy his fingers, his palms, just so he wasn't tempted to touch you, to grab you like he was used to. It'd been years since you were properly together–properly engaged in fact–but he still couldn't shake those infuriating fucking habits. You were a cancer in his mind, plaguing his body and thoughts.

But he didn't want you to leave. Maybe he liked the chase. Maybe he just liked how his entire, explosive world narrowed down to just one infuriating thing that he wanted so badly. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't need to know.

Sukuna poured himself another drink and collapsed onto his soft leather couch with a deep sigh. His arms draped along the back, one hand still holding the glass by the rim. He let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling.

Thankfully, you wandered in. And you wandered toward him, not to the door like you usually did when his temper flared and he acted out. Something small and pathetic in him uncoiled and settled down, purring in content when you took a seat beside him.

“What's going on?” you asked quietly. Your fingertips singed sparks of pleasure against his skin where you touched: his cheekbones, his hairline, his furrowed brow.

He lolled his head to the side to look at you, his stupid pretty boy. “Nothing.” Not even Sukuna believed that.

You brushed his hair back, and the stupid alpha in him rose to the surface and moaned. “Yuuji’s not behaving?” Your warm palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it.

“That little shit never behaves,” he mumbled through the vibrato of purrs rumbling from his chest. “Gonna make me die young.”

“Hm. Is that why you haven't slept?”

“I'm sleeping.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Sukuna.”

“I said–”

“You and I have different definitions of ‘enough,’” you chided lightly, like you were scolding one of your cats. “You look tired.”

“Maybe it's because my mate scampered off in the middle of the night.”

“Don't blame this on me.”

“Why not?” Wine-red eyes glowered at you, deciding whether he should dominate or decimate you. “It's your fault.”

You recoiled the slightest bit, your top lip twitching in that oh-so familiar way it did whenever you were close to snarling and snapping at him. You had such a temper for such a calm thing. Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't try to rile you up on purpose.

“Ho? What,” he started, grinning wickedly when you made a move to get up, but his arms snaked around you and held like wrought iron. “Feelin’ guilty?”

“No,” you hissed, half-pissed by his drink spilling on you, half-pissed by his accusation. “Let go. I'm leaving.”

“Leaving?” He crooned. “You always get so pissy when I don't wanna talk, ‘n now that I'm in the mood, you're tryna leave? Come on, sweetheart, that's not fair.”

“I don't feel like fucking fighting tonight,” you snapped, and Sukuna stayed quiet for a change. “Yuuji got shot. You look like shit. And we--I haven't–” you took a deep breath. “Can't we just be civil for a night? Can't we just talk about–”

“About what?”

“About whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Alright. Okay.”

Somewhere behind the haze of alcohol, Sukuna's consciousness celebrated–this could be his shot at starting to fix things. This was his moment to rebuild that lost relationship and maybe clean up a space in his life for you to sit safely in. Your expectant expression agreed with him. You looked quite cute, what with your big eyes and the way you leaned into him. But instead–

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Sukuna asked before taking a sip of whatever remained in his glass.

You blinked and shook your head, eyes narrowing the slightest as you looked over his face. “What?” You asked.

Sukuna snorted and turned to face you, one arm gesturing with his scotch glass while the other arm stayed slung across the back of the couch. “I said,” he started, gesturing to your stomach and chuckling through his low, bassy words, “boy or girl? If it was a girl, then maybe the world did you a favour. You know how it is for women in this day and age.”

You stared blankly like you were shellshocked, and Sukuna bubbled with near-manic, reedy laughter until you got up and walked to the door.

“Oi, where the hell are you going, huh?” He got up and followed you, hastening his steps when he saw you b-line for the door. “Omega.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, purring into your ear as he pressed his chest to your back. “Come on, we can make another one. You'd like that, huh?”

“Get off,” you barked, ripping his arms away from you. But he grabbed you again and spun you back to face him. You shoved him back, your mind whirling in a chaotic waltz drenched with grey thoughts and crimson rain that almost drowned out the words he barked at you until–

Whack.

He hit you. Backhanded, fingers adorned with thick, bulky rings and knuckles that'd seen too many fights. A natural disaster contained in the vessel of a mortal man–sometimes, he didn't know his own capabilities.

“Shit,” Sukuna mumbled, scrambling to set down his glass to, what, tend to you? Rewind time? Sure. “Babe–”

But you, too, were a natural disaster. The tsunami that came after an earthquake, raising tides high and staring down at split earth with a taunt: you think you're bad? Watch this.

Thwack.

You snatched up that bottle of fancy scotch and hit a home run, watching Sukuna collapse to the floor.

–

Sukuna woke up with a concussion, his wallet missing, and one of his favourite cars torched.

It got him riled up. He was too ready to hunt you down and make you rectify your mistakes–that is, until he remembered why you did what you did.

Boy or girl?

Maybe the world did you a favour.

Fuck. He flew way too close to the sun this time.

He watched you stack up expenses on his card instead of hunting you. Your little rage-filled crime spree was kind of funny anyway, and he couldn’t help but hope it made you feel at least a little better.

Though he knew it could never. Nothing could make it better.

–

“You should quit messing around with him,” Ieiri said as she tended to the half-dead gangster laying on her operating table. “He's bad news. A kid like you shouldn’t be getting involved.”

The one little, wiggly lucid part of Sukuna wanted to strangle Ieiri; you were young, sure, but not stupid. Sukuna wouldn't go so far as to say you were mature for your age, no, but you'd been beaten down by life and forced into the role of an adult for long enough that it'd changed your way of thinking, of perceiving the world. You could make your own choices–just as long as it involved him.

“You're not the first person to tell me that,” you said softly, words rising with a small, warm chuckle. “Good guys try way too hard to put on a show, to hide how garbage they can be.” You squeezed Sukuna's hand and ran your thumb over his split knuckles. “Guys like him show you who they really are right away. Then, you get to figure out what his good side is like.”

–

You were there again. In the elevator, looking a little pensive beyond your cool exterior.

Sukuna took a drag from his cigarette as he stepped in beside you. The button for his penthouse leered at him and whispered, “you have time.”

All he had to do was think of what to say. The right course of action was obvious, but–well, was it really his fault? He couldn't accept that 100%. You clocked him upside the head with a fucking glass bottle and stole his–

“Those things'll kill you.” Your fingers snatched the smoke from his lips before he realized it. He caught you butting it out on the fancy gold railings.

“I like things that can kill me,” he hummed, lighting another cigarette and chuckling when you snatched that one too. “What, scared of a little competition?”

“Yes.”

Oh. Sukuna liked that.

“I, uh,” you started, fumbling with your pockets before handing something over. “Found this.”

Sukuna glanced your way finally. He couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the wallet from your hands.

“Found it, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Such a benevolent, pious thing. I would've kept it.”

“Yeah, well. You're a dick. ‘Course you would.”

“Where'd you find it?”

“My pocket.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Weird.”

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty hall leading to the penthouse. He glanced down at the door before looking back down at you.

“Have a drink with me.”

Your expression soured.

Sukuna threw his arm against the doors to keep them open. “Coffee?”

Your brows lifted, the creases smoothing from your face. “Coffee.”

Sukuna's alpha bloomed with pleased content. He sidled up next to you and rested his broad hand on the small of your back, leading you down the hall.

“With a bit of Baileys.”

“No Baileys.”

–

He let you try to sooth his stress while you waited for your favourite, poor-person coffee to brew.

You straddled his thick thighs as you kissed at his neck. Your hands roamed and threaded through his gelled hair, your blunt nails dragged along his scalp, coaxing rumbling purrs out of your alpha.

“Shit,” he moaned, leaning back into your hands, digging his head into your digits and grumbling like an old dog. You hummed in sympathy, and gave him harsher scritches, making his knee bounce in double time like a dog getting the spot scratched.

You weren’t done, though. You licked at his neck’s scent gland and coaxed more of his natural musk to the surface to mix with yours–a classic way to get one’s partner to calm down. You were methodical as fuck about it, too, knowing how Sukuna’s stress abruptly blocked any good scents in favour of excreting foul, angry odors into the air when he was pissed. Or, sometimes, he’d shut down completely, the only scent coming from what clung to his skin and clothes.

And so, he needed a little more TLC to get things flowing again, to make his body disarm and let the good vibes flow.

You nipped the swollen spot lightly, eliciting a strangled growl from the man. “Too rough?” Your tongue pressed at the spot again, and pulled more of that deep purring out of him. “Maybe not.”

“By all means, rough me up.” That was as close to a warning as you would get from a greedy bastard like Sukuna. He wanted you to bite harder, to break skin and set the wild tornado of a mating rut into motion. You were careful to avoid him when your unholy heats crashed down on you, but being in the presence of your estranged man when he was set off–well, it’d jumpstart your sex-crazed frenzy, too.

“Raincheck,” you murmured.

He huffed and rubbed circles in your hips before grabbing your ass and squeezing. “When's the last time–”

The coffee maker sang a tune and you got off, saved from your warm, fuzzy marking daze. “Does it matter?”

Sukuna got up and stalked after you, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder. “Like it or not, we're stuck with our binding vow.” His chest pressed to your back, his arms slipping around your waist as he leaned down to nuzzle into your skin. “Mated for life.” He couldn't help the smile that branded into your neck.

You cleared your throat and snatched up two mugs. “There're surgeries–”

“No.”

“How do you take your coffee again?” Hah. You didn't even try to argue it.

Sukuna's ego boomed. His scent grew more dominating and demanding in tow. “You know how I like it. You know the way I like everything.”

You scoffed and slapped his hand away, the sweet, teasing omega that happily marked him up and scented him to high heaven gone, now replaced with your annoying, bratty self. Ugh. He loved it as much as he hated it.

“You used to be cuter,” Sukuna commented, quiet and breathy, so out of character. His hands retreated back to hold your waist instead of keeping you trapped against him. “What happened to–”

“You know what happened.” You sounded tired, too. Angry. But not at the Sukuna standing with you right then and there.

Sukuna's old friend, unyielding frustration, bore down on him. He sucked his teeth and beat down the urge to snap, to yell and scream, claim it wasn't his fucking fault and that you never filled him in, so how could–

His forehead pressed against your shoulder. “I don't,” he sighed. “I don't fucking know, (Name). We lost our kid, I know that much, so what the fuck else is there?”

For a moment, he thought he'd lost you again. He expected you to whirl around, throw a cup at his head and curse him to hell to start off another fight; instead, you slipped out of his hands gently, and replaced your warmth with a cup of coffee.

“Come sit.”

Sukuna complied.

You tucked your legs up under you when you sat down. Your own mug was held snugly with both hands, yet your fingers fidgeted, twirling around whatever rings you had on while you thought of what to say.

“So,” you started. “How much do you know?”

Sukuna leaned back and thought. “Uraume called. Said something was wrong.” He could remember their voice ringing in his ear, that usual, frigid demeanor exploding into something panicked and tortured as they tried to comfort you, order idiots around, and explain the situation. “They didn’t know what, but said you were bein’ taken to Ieiri. I met ‘em there, Gojo wouldn’t let me come in.” He sighed, the memories pricking his nerves. “Told me you miscarried, and–well, that’s more or less it.”

You nodded a little, digesting the scraps of knowledge that’d been given to Sukuna. “I was alone,” you breathed. “I was–I’d been cramping. A lot. I thought–I didn't know–I just–I thought it was normal.” You cleared your throat, fidgeting more and only stilling when Sukuna's palm rested on your leg. You covered his hand with one of yours. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was dying. Uraume and Yuuji took me to Ieiri.”

Sukuna remembered that, too. He remembered catching sight of you just before his brother carried you away from him. It was hard to forget the sound of your wailing amidst all that red–that damned noise came from hell itself, from the burning, fetid pits of agony and despair and up through your beautiful voice. For something so foul to touch you was nothing but blasphemous.

Sukuna tried to follow you in, but that moron Gojo wouldn’t let him in, spouting some bullshit about how he’d make things worse. Needless to say, Sukuna snapped, and Ieiri suddenly had more than a mourning omega to deal with.

“I pinned it on you to cope. I didn’t know what else to do.” You spared a shy glance at him before staring down again. “...Uraume filled me in, though. You were dealing with so much shit. All that crap with the Zenins. And you didn’t even–you didn’t even know I was knocked up until I wasn’t.” You sighed and sipped your drink before setting it aside. “Guess it was easier to blame you for everything than it was to just accept I got unlucky.”

“‘Unlucky’?” Sukuna repeated lowly, void of mirth for once.

You nodded. “Chromosome bullshit, garbage genetics, a shitty cervix. Coulda been anything.” Sukuna watched your expression shift from desolate to bitter. “And if you fuck up once and lose your pup, odds are it’ll happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Science. Doctors.”

“You really gonna take their word like that?” Your eyes met his, doey and expectant. “I'll gut ‘em myself if they say that shit next time you're knocked up.”

You looked a bit bashful then, looking away from him with pursed lips and glossy eyes. For a second, Sukuna thought you were about to snap and argue with him about how you vowed to never get pregnant again (which he'd indulge in), or maybe even bolt for the door (which he wouldn't allow), but instead, you grabbed the remote.

“Tch. Don't say such stupid shit. It's annoying.”

Sukuna could only grin to himself as you settled in beside him, tucking up against his side. Neither of you could swallow your pride enough to properly apologize for anything ever, but that wasn't necessarily needed–understanding was what was needed. Things had just become a little bit clearer.

–

For once, the alpha found himself at ease. Sure, you had your petty and some less-than-petty spats, but there was a coil of contentment that stayed at the forefront of Sukuna's mind through it all. Now, he no longer fumed nor bristled, no longer wondered if you really belonged to him, no longer thought about how to trap you if he wanted to keep you around.

Because you made more of an effort to see him, to call when you couldn't, to set his vicious wolf's heart at ease so he could rest soundly. He rested the most when you were so gracious as to curl up in those black, silken sheets with him, too.

Don't get too excited. It's just because we're mated; we'd go insane otherwise, Is how you rationalized it. And, honestly, it was cute to see you act so flippant and uncaring when Sukuna knew you were so the opposite.

Little liar. Loves playing pretend. He gently tucked stray hairs behind your ear as you snoozed soundly beside him. It was unlike you to sleep in so late (“late” meaning past 6am), and it was unlike Sukuna to wake up before you, so it must have been kismet.

Because this moment was the first in a long time where he got to touch you. Beyond the playful ass slaps and grabs at your hips, you never really let him feel you. Or did he just never try to touch you like this? Gently, just for the sake of feeling your skin and your warmth?

Sukuna was a brutal man. He didn't often have a chance to be careful. If he'd had that kid, then he might've learned how; he could've learned not to throw glasses at skylines, not to lash out at his omega, not to expect you to still love you when he broke you.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek and down to your jaw, admiring the soft skin and strong angle that led him to the curve of your chin, and your perfect lips. God, he wanted to kiss you. It'd been an eternity since he had a taste of you. Maybe if he was gentle–

I can do gentle. Sukuna shifted the slightest bit towards you until his nose lightly brushed against yours, until he felt your light breaths fan against his skin. Ah, why was his heart beating so fast now?

He did his best to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his ears when he brushed his lips against yours once more, before he kissed you softly. Gently. Perfectly. And he took his time parting. He had to savour the taste of your lips against his because who knew when he'd get to kiss you again?

I love you, he heard echo in his memories when your lips parted. But he never heard himself reply.

“Love you too, brat,” he murmured. “Don't you dare think otherwise.”

Your eyes opened a moment later. “You mean that?” came your reply, just as light and whispered. Sukuna felt waves of heat come off your skin–were you blushing?

Crimson eyes flickered from your bashful look to the slight parting of your lips and back again. “Always.” Even though he never said it. But he let you get away with everything to show that love–credit card theft, cracking him upside the head with a bottle, abandoning him for months on end.

A soft ‘hm’ hummed through you. Your sleepy gaze melted from Sukuna’s, and down to his lips, too, while your own pursed, pensive. Thoughtful. Christ, you were really something else–just a single look from you had his mind reeling, his chest easing into a warmth so reminiscent of a campfire, the sort you both used to sit around when you’d bullied Sukuna into buying one for his too-big balcony.

Back then, you were just “friends,” though the flirting and meaningful touches said otherwise. You were still a street doctor, introduced to him by Yuuji of all people, but you had more pep in your step, especially when you worked to try and swoon the hardened, deranged alpha you’d decided belonged to you. You’re mine, you said simply after shooting whatever whore the big, bad boss had hired for the night. The look in your eyes, cold and determined, got Sukuna achingly hard in an instant. He never wanted you to look at anyone else like that–your rage, your obsession, it could only ever be for him.

“‘M I still yours?” You still want me? You still love me? Am I still just for you?

You looked a little sentimental. A little sad, too, maybe. But maybe it was just the culmination of your fears and worries, your wants and desires finally breaking through your solemn being.

“I'm a minimalist at heart. I've only got room for so much.”

“Don't tell me you're back on that Kondo Marie kick–”

“But you're something I can't do without.” Yeah, I love you. I want you. I don't want much, but I want you. You're mine. “You bring me joy, or whatever the saying is. But I wanna beat the shit outta you sometimes for being a dumbass.”

Sukuna laughed and nudged your nose with his–a small, primal gesture of fondness. “Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Tch. You're gonna have to be careful--you're gonna send my old ass to an early grave if you keep up with all this fiery youth shit.”

“Then I can inherit your fortune,” you offered airily before kissing him teasingly. Sukuna growled when your small fangs dug into his bottom lip playfully. “That'd be nice.”

“Hah. Everything's going to family–Yuuji, the old fart.” Sukuna pulled you in closer and purred as you complied. “You'd have to–”

“I'll marry you if that's what it takes,” you cooed, and Sukuna froze. You paused for a moment, too, before lifting yourself up to look down at his dumb face. “Oi.” You pat his cheek lightly but he scowled at you, half-cranky, half-defeated. “Eeeh? You mad?”

“Tch.”

“Awe, big alpha's mad.”

“Don't.” A command. A warning. One that had your subgender reeling and whimpering behind you, but your human side smiling, ready to mock.

You slid on top of him, straddling his waist and splaying your hands out on his broad, solid chest. Sukuna still kept his gaze elsewhere. Honestly, you couldn't blame him--you were in a mood.

“Oi,” you prodded, poking at his ridiculous pecs and tracing over the dark lines of his irezumi. “Hey. Don't pout.” But he grabbed your hands when your stupid fingers threatened to assault his nipples, and he continued to pout. “Come on, I said I'd marry you.”

“Tch.” You've said that before.

“I mean it.”

“Tch.” You’ve said that before, too.

You leaned down, and nuzzled the hollow of his cheek while he grumbled and grumped. “You don't like the idea of breeding me anymore? You don't want me to yourself, all caught up in your bedsheets with you between my legs? Hm? You don't wanna fuck me through my heat, knock me up a few more times, make me bare your children for the world to see how I belong to Ryoumen Sukuna? You don't want me to be drenched in your scent–”

You squeaked when your man flipped you around, pinning you before ripping off the sleep shorts keeping your skin from him. His rough fingers dove deep into your slicked up hole (apparently your long list of hypotheticals had worked you up into a soft, wet, pliant thing) and hurried to stretch you wide.

“Such an annoying little shit,” Sukuna grumbled. And you laughed, lightly and so achingly genuinely through your fluttery mewls and moans. “If you try ‘n back out this time, I'll break your fucking legs and tie you down to the bed, you got that? I'm not gonna be so fucking nice this time.”

“Eh? You were being nice last–” you whined when his wet fingers jammed into your mouth. But you obediently sucked and bit at them, holding onto his muscled arm for leverage while he kicked off his bottoms and pressed his sweltering tip to your soft entrance.

“You got no idea, princess.” Sukuna pushed in, groaning with ancient, cursed need as your insides welcomed him and obeyed, letting his uncomfortable size push you open. Seemed your body still remembered him. Wanted him as much as your stupid pretty mouth claimed.

You were gasping, your molars chewing into his fingers as your missing piece slid back into place, filling you up until it hurt to breathe. Strong thighs clamped down against Sukuna’s sides as he dragged you down, forcing the last bits of his cock into your very depths, squeezing a reedy whine out of you, before he pulled out and slammed right back in again and again and again.

Your cry nearly sent him over the edge. It was a loud, bassy thing, something like a cello toppling or having its string plucked too hard by a callous touch–a sound Sukuna reveled in. You were the only partner he'd had that was like this, so demanding and bitchy, absolutely horrible and as poisonous as alphas were, and he loved it. He lived and died by your gospel, by the very life that thrummed underneath his touch.

And you promised to be all his. Sukuna could have everything, anything and anyone, and that apparently included trapping and claiming a god. One that only he prayed to. One that'd only smile upon him. One that only delivered to him divine blessings.

What a divine gift.

He folded you in half with ease and blanketed your trembling body with his own. The fingers fucking into your mouth slipped out and down to your throat where they squeezed lightly; then, they traveled to the back of your neck, found your cute little nape, and squeezed.

Your eyes rolled back as your body arched up into him. Words left you in some ancient tongue neither you nor Sukuna could decipher. But it was a language of love and pleasure, the sort that brought delicious submission coiling through your blood in offering to the lowly creature devouring your holiness.

“Sukuna,” you choked out. Your fingers dug into his shoulder and fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to the old, scarred mark left there by him a decade ago. “‘Kuna, I need–”

The boss laughed low, but with fluttery, manic high tones warped throughout. “Need me to bite you? Mark you mine again?” He taunted. His nails dug into your soft side as he fucked into you harder, lifting your waist up to meet his brutal angle as his base started to swell. “I wanna hear you say it–say you need it, you want it. Say you need me to fill your guts every fucking night. Say I'm the only one who can get you there. I'm the only one–” his other hand grabbed your nape harder, forcing your submission further, forcing your neck to the side to present it to him.

Then, with a snarl, he added, “say ‘I do.’”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you murmured those very words into his ear.

I do.

Sukuna's heart howled with the beast living inside him. Blood flooded his mouth when he tore into your shoulder, digging deeper than needed to brand you his again just before his pulsing knot squeezed into you and locked into place, stilling his wild rampage and holding you hostage beneath his hulking body.

You shifted and writhed against him, so obviously overwhelmed by such an archaic, crazed union–your omega must have been going wild, willing you to fight against the monster pouring his seed into you, locking you in place, taking away your autonomy. But a short, rough warning growl settled your inner self the slightest bit and straightened out your thoughts enough for your human pettiness to urge you, too, to sink teeth into flesh and mark up your alpha to complete the re-bonding.

Good boy. Sukuna's hips rutted against you in light pulses, attempting to jam his knot further into you to ensure you'd take everything he so graciously offered you. But every little move your bodies made together tore more hot strings of cum out of him and into your core. Apparently an eternity of not having you was culminating into this one moment.

You were the one to let go first. You collapsed onto your back with a loud sigh, and the crushing constriction of your thighs laxed just slightly.

“Fuck,” you gasped, wholly content and pleased. Your hand wiggled between your bodies and rested on the still-inflating curve that your partner had oh-so loving built out of cum and obsessive dedication. “That's gonna make a mess.”

Good. Sukuna's chainsaw purr reverberated against your bloodied skin. He chewed into you further and relished in the taste and smell of you, the way it mingled with his own scent of existence and made him feel so irrevocably whole.

Your fingers laced through his hair as you laughed. “Oi, let go already. Your knot's not gonna go down for like thirty minutes. I'm not going anywhere.”

Your mate obliged, dislodging his chunky fangs from you and lapping at the wound dutifully until the bleeding staunched. Next, he got to work leaving an array of dark hickies and light bites all over your neck and shoulder, just in case the gnarly bite mark wasn't enough to ward off idiots who thought they had a chance with you. He grumbled at the mere idea of it.

“So?” You cooed, running your hands up and down his muscled shoulders. “What do we do for half an hour?”

Sukuna scoffed. He tried to pull out just a bit, just to see if he was seriously locked in there, and you spat a vile hiss his way, your nails digging into him at the same time. And, fuck, you were tight–

“Fuck.” He didn't think this through.

-- DRABBLES --

“You're dumb as fuck, you know that?”

“Ah, such romantic words to hear from my wife.”

“Husband, jackass.”

Sukuna managed to open his eyes through the pounding of his head. God, he felt like shit. But that probably came with the territory of getting shot point-blank before bailing out of a moving car on the highway. Honestly, he was lucky only one car hit him when he hit the pavement.

Still, it was bad enough to warrant him a ticket to the hospital. Uraume worked behind the scenes, ensuring their boss got a private room and that the police would stay the fuck away if they knew what was good for them, and it all somehow worked out. Uraume was definitely a sorcerer of sorts.

“Can you save it for home? Fucking hell,” Sukuna groaned, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Too tired to argue.”

“That's a first,” You huffed, and marched up to his side, sitting down in the cozy seat waiting for you. Your careful touch prodded at his hand gently, as if assessing the damage, guestimating if you could hold his hand without hurting him, but he made the choice for you. He caught your hand weakly, and you held him safe with both of yours.

“Missed you,” he grumbled, squeezing back lamely. “Have fun on the trip at least?”

“Yeah, until I heard what happened.” You sighed, watery and warbled. “I shouldn't have left. You're too stupid to survive alone.”

Sukuna laughed, then coughed. He felt you tense. “F-Fuck you, little shit. I'm fine.”

“You got shot.”

“Been shot before.”

“Jumped out of a car.”

“I've jumped outta faster.”

“Then got hit by another car.”

“That was a first.”

You sighed to fight back either a sob or ill-placed laughter, or maybe both. “This is so fucking ridiculous. Never make me take a vacation again. I can't be off fucking around in Hawaii when my baby daddy's getting hit like it's GTA.”

“Christ, I already–” he paused, though, and cracked an eye open to look at you. “What did you…”

He lost his words when he saw you. Your skin glowed in a way he hadn't had the luxury to see before. Your face looked rounder, too, like you'd put on a little bit of weight since you'd been gone. But your scent–your usual sweet, full-bodied scent of flowery coffee was cranked up to a trillion. If Sukuna's nose wasn't busted, he would've noticed the way it filled up the room, and he might've noticed how his own scent rose to meet it in greeting. Something strange was happening.

“Oh. Right. Uh…” you cleared your throat and hastily tucked some hair behind your ear. You looked a little bit lost for words too, in all honesty. “I’m pregn–”

Sukuna sat up. You barked at him to lay down, your voice rising a few octaves when something that was probably important dislodged from his wrist as he reached forward when you stood. And you froze when his palm pressed against your stomach–a natural, maternal thing to do. Sukuna remembered when he caught your cat for you when she was trying to dart out the door whilst pregnant, and how she froze dead in her tracks when his hand caught her by her kitten-filled stomach, and let him carry her back inside.

But this was different. This wasn’t his partner’s cat’s kittens he was feeling, it was yours. His. A shared little nugget doing its best to grow big for its expectant mama–and now expectant papa.

“How long?” Sukuna rasped. When did his throat get so dry?

“Two months. Ish.” You rested your hands over his again despite the awkward angle he caught you at. “I didn’t know until last week. I tried to call, but–” You got obliterated and couldn’t answer your phone.

“I get it. Don’t gotta explain.” Sukuna gazed at your stomach a moment longer with droopy, half-lidded eyes before looking up at you as nurses burst into the room. “You’re moving in.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

–

“Dude, you guys can't fuck when he's pregnant! You'll crush the baby like a tin can!”

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth as your tea shot out your nose. You coughed and wheezed, turning away and waving at the brothers in a desperate plea for them to not look and continue their petty argument.

Sukuna, caught between the urge to mock you and kick the shit out of his annoying little fucknut brother, sighed and rubbed his face before handing you his fancy handkerchief he kept tucked in the breast of his jacket for nothing but looks. These days, though, the damn thing had been paying its dues.

“You think I'm gonna listen to a fuckin’ virgin about this kinda shit?” Sukuna quipped back as he watched you clean up before trying to take a sip of your drink again.

“Hey, man, I'm just saying. Your dick is like a third leg.”

You slammed your hand down on the table after spitting a mouthful of tea back into your cup. “Yuuji. Please. Why do you even know that?”

Yuuji pouted and scooted closer to you under the kotatsu. “Wh--we're brothers! It's not even that weird!”

“It's weird as shit,” Sukuna offered as he reached out to rub your back.

“So not weird.” His honeyed eyes locked onto the small affection the older showed you. “Man, so not fair you guys are ganging up on me now that you're, like, a thing,” Yuuji whined and let his arms and chest flop across the table like a petulant child.

Sukuna smirked. “Jealous?”

You grumbled. “Sukuna. Don't start.”

Yuuji's ears turned bright red. “Jea–what?! No! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence, not--I don't–”

“N'awe, little pup's tryna cope with losing.” Sukuna grinned wildly when Yuuji's head snapped up, pinning a deadly stare onto the older alpha. “Oh? Finally grow a pair?”

“Sukuna,” you warned again.

“You better shut it, dude,” Yuuji threatened next, and you knew it was a lost cause; two alpha brothers, both incredibly competitive, both pining for the same omega, spelled disaster.

Your partner laughed that familiar, ugly laugh–the sort that was too genuine and sounded borderline insane. “Or what? You gonna make me cry–”

Yuuji launched over the table in an instant, tackling his brother to the ground with a bratty snarl. You watched on, unimpressed, waiting for any signs of their wrestling turning into a serious fight, but it never came. So, you enjoyed it a bit. It wasn't everyday the two idiots played nice.

You rested your hands on your curved stomach while the two growled and snarled half-heartedly in their dumb attempt to subdue the other. Sukuna could've won in an instant, you both knew that, but he'd let Yuuji think he had a fighting chance for a little bit. It was part of the fun for him, letting his little brother gnaw on him like it'd do anything, letting him try to use his horrible jiu-jitsu skills on his older, bigger brother. It reminded you of–

��Oh,” you peeped when a rowdy kick jostled your hand. It didn't come from the boys, no, it came from the tiny tot inside you.

The boys froze and stared at you.

“Huh? What's ‘oh'?” Yuuji asked through his panting and straining. Sukuna had him in a headlock, one of his hands giving a brutal noogie to the younger's head.

“No, just–I think she kicked. Maybe not, I don't–” but your expression brightened with delight when another little throw hit your hand.

“No shit?” Sukuna grinned, waves of excited alpha scent rolling off of him. He face-shoved Yuuji away before sidling up next to you and pressing his palm against your stomach. You guided his touch to rest over the kicky hotspot, and sure enough–

Thump. Thump.

“Two kicks for your old man, hey?” Sukuna hummed, looking so damn triumphant.

“Hey, hey, I wanna feel!” Yuuji scrambled over like a nightmare and wiggled up on your other side, pointedly ignoring the snarl Sukuna sent his way. “Come on, it's my niece, chill out.”

Sukuna growled again, but you pulled his hand off to let Yuuji feel the little life making herself known. His eyes, too, lit up when those tiny thwacks battered his palm.

You looked up at Sukuna dreamily, making the other's ticked expression smooth down into just mildly-annoyed; if your omega wasn't threatened, then he wasn't going to threaten. Sukuna didn't think Yuuji would hurt you, absolutely not, but anyone who came near you, or so much as accidentally bumped into you, pissed Sukuna off, sending his over-protective instincts into overdrive. He always had to rely on you to know when not to react.

“That's so cool!” Yuuji squeaked. “She's seriously in there!”

“Where the fuck else would she be,” Sukuna grumped.

“Don't ruin his fun, Sukuna.”

“Yeah, don’t ruin my fun!”

“Yuuji’s banned from the house.”

“WH–HEY!!”

“Sukuna.”

“Heh.”

“What about gramps, then?”

Sukuna paused. His heart stopped for a long, long moment.

“What about him?” He answered, nonchalantly as possible. “Old fuck cut me off years ago.”

“He still cares,” Yuuji offered with a shrug. “And I told him about the pup ‘n everything.”

Sukuna frowned. “Yuuji–”

“You seriously think he doesn't give a shit? Dude, be real, the guy raised us.”

“That's generous.”

“Didn't you say you were leaving everything to Yuuji and ‘the old fart’ originally?” You cooed, unhelpful as ever.

Carmine eyes found yours. “...If he actually wants to meet her–”

“Awesome, I’ll let him know!”

“Oi, runt–”

But Yuuji jumped up and pulled his phone out, leaving Sukuna to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into while you laughed at his misery.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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lewisvinga · 8 months ago

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bringing it back to old school.

summary; a series/collections of fiction of various drivers based on old school reggaeton hits.

f1 main masterlist !

yo voy | lewis hamilton

lewis was used to having women throw themselves at him and try to seduce him for a night in bed. however, only one is able to have him completely wrapped around his finger.

ven bailalo | george russell

despite not being the best dancer, george will always join y/n on the dance floor, bad moves or not.

mayor que yo | max verstappen

max doesn’t care that checo’s sister is older than him. he just wants her no matter the age difference.

que tengo que hacer | charles leclerc

charles is desperate to have y/n back in his life and he just wants to know what he has to do to bring her back.

quiero saber | carlos sainz

y/n is tired of hiding her relationship with carlos and tired of all the prying eyes of other women in clubs who are desperate to dance with him. her only solution? take him out to the dance floor.

pobre diabla | lando norris

y/n is spotted out in the streets of monaco drunk and a crying mess. unbeknownst to everyone, she was crying over her relationship with lando.

dile | oscar piastri

oscar wants to make sure that y/n’s boyfriend knows how and when he met her. but he wants her to tell him.

llamado de emergencia | logan sargeant

the pressure of formula one is catching up to logan. after his dnf in miami, there was only one person he could call for help

pasarela | alex albon ft. lily

the fashionable influencer at the miami grand prix catches the attention of f1’s favorite couple

perdóname | daniel ricciardo

daniel made one of the biggest mistakes of his life and all he wants is for y/n to forgive him

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

note; reader is implied to be latina in a lot of these btw!!! how could i not w a reggaeton series??🙈 ofc i had to add lily to alex’s fic, i missed my fave throuple 😞 but i’m really excited for this <33 first ones should be out hopefully this week!!

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cheriladycl01 · 15 days ago

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Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader? She was with him when both AM's drivers are going to the paddock for media days. And he looks so hot wearing an all white fit. He's doing all sorts of things, like making butterflies in her stomach. With the appearance of all black Lance. Maybe a little suggestive and fluff. Thanks!! :)))

You make me feel - Fernando Alonso x Wife! Reader

Plot: It’s media day, and your husband couldn’t look any sexier …

You’d stayed behind at the hotel having slept in longer than your husband who’d been up since the crack of dawn going for a run around the track before getting ready for the day. You’d taken an extra long shower and more time to get ready, until you basically floated into the paddock.

You hadn’t seen your husband all morning and you were excited to finally see him. You wave at the other drivers you pass that you were familiar with like Lewis and Max before rounding closer to the Aston Martin hospitality.

You make yourself known to the engineers around you, smiling and making conversation with them about today and how they thought it would go.

“Oh, by the way Fernando told us that we should send you too him if we saw you before him!” One of the younger mechanics grins pointing into the glass doors.

“Oh thank you Jay!” You smile before wishing them good luck for the upcoming race and goodbye for now. You make your way through the building sending a hello to everyone who makes your acquaintance.

Eventually you see your husband looking better than ever, he was in a white fit, thanks to his own branding. He had a Kimoa white top on and white karki shorts. When he saw you he immediately found his way over to you.

“Mmmmmm hermosa” he smiles pulling you into him, hugging you tightly.

“How was your morning, you were very sleepy” he grins, holding you at arms length to look over your now bright and awake expression, one very different from your half asleep, grunts and groans as he left you as the sun was just starting to peak its way over the building.

“I had a very good sleep, got to spread out the whole way” you tease looking up at him with a laugh. He laughs with a shake of his head.

“You don’t like me snuggling with you?” He asks, moving a hand to his chest in mock offence. He obviously wasn’t actually offended as he knew you liked to tease him like this often.

“Of course I do. But I do like turning into a starfish?” You grin, and he cocks his head to the side wondering what you are going on about. You attempt to think of the way to explain it in Spanish.

“Mmmm I think it would be estrella de mar?” You explain wondering if there was a more technical word for it.

“Ah yes, you do that even when I’m in the bed though” he chuckles and you gasp.

“I do not!” You say slapping his shoulder lightly.

“But you do, you just … sprawl out over me” he grins pulling you into a quick kiss before a familiar voice interrupts you both.

“Hey guys” Lance’s voice sounds past the loud clinking of coffee cups and plates from the busy hospitality suite.

“Ohhhh my gosh!! My son!! I haven’t seen you in ages” you say pulling him into a hug.

“Ahhh you look so nice! Did Fernando send you those clothes. Kimoa suits you” you grin seeing the branded clothes that he was wearing.

“No, I lost a bet with Daniel, Lando and Fernando that if I lost it I’d have to wear their merch at the next race. Wearing Nando’s today, Daniel’s tomorrow and Landos on Sunday” he laughs.

He looked good in Fernandos merch, as right now they were basically polar opposites. The vision of yin and yang.

“I like it, but aren’t you hot in all black?” You ask looking at the sheen of sweat across his brow that was nearly blocked by his sunglasses.

“A little but hotter in the car, work up that tolerance” he grins before checking his surrounding seeing his sister and running over to pull her into a hug.

You see your husband take two waters from a waitress raining his head to take the drinks a little spilling onto the white shirt. Once he’s done he comes back over handing you the remaining bottle nodding for you to drink it.

Your head cocks to the side.

“It’s a hot day, you gotta keep your hydration up okay?” He nods and you can’t help that swarming feeling in your stomach.

Your husband often gave you butterflies despite having been married for the good portion of 6 years. You always told him that was the best part of your relationship despite you being able to read him like a book, he always managed to have a surprise of two that made you feel like a giddy school girl.

“Thanks, you know you’re the best right?” You smile at him shyly and he looks at you shocked. It wasn’t often that he saw you shy in front of him, but he was always proud when he caught you out like this. So that shocked face slowly turned into a smirk.

“You think so?” He asks and you roll your eyes, a light blush crossing your cheeks as you look up at him.

“You know I do, wouldn’t have married you otherwise” you grit out awkwardly.

“Mmm didn’t tell you that you look beautiful today. Like I don’t even understand how you are my wife” he smiles and you nearly melt. You can’t help but lean up to kiss him.

“I think I’m the lucky one” you say softly and ever so quietly.

“Definitely not. I’m not needed for another few hours, shall we pop back to the hotel room? I think I might need to … change” he grins before pulling you back in for a kiss, taking your hand in his.

“I couldn’t agree more”

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

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hanzajesthanza · 2 months ago

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@horsegirlcahir i ended up making a diagram, lol. i hope to god i don't have to put the var anahid and dyffryn line on here at a later date

at its simplest form, and what i meant by the original post was that:

milva was dating baron amadis de trastamara, who also has two daughters that cahir was dating: the baroness nique and baroness queline... err, okay, milva and cahir probably not even being more than five to ten years apart, peers, and yet dating a father and his daughters... well... alright, chalk it up to the books' setting, whatever... but just fyi... if milva had accepted the baron's marriage proposal, and if somehow then cahir was married to one of the baroness, then milva would be cahir's step-mother in-law. 😐

even more, after the company's departure for castle stygga, dandelion does the most dandelion thing, and cheats on anna henrietta... with baroness nique... one of the daughters cahir was dating... well, at least you can say dandelion's relieved of whatever came over him in beauclair and is back to his normal self now

oh, but it doesn't stop there, of course. the company was also entirely entangled with the ducal line, too. most obvious example being dandelion who was consort to anna henrietta. but regis also was sat next to anna henrietta's aunt, countess notturna, during the banquet, in which he charmed the entire table of higher aristocracy. geralt, of course, was also engaged with fringilla vigo, who is a relative of anna henrietta (i believe her second cousin, but i'd have to check the original text and not the translation). and anna henrietta is also cousin to emhyr var emreis, and was also friends with pavetta before her death. these two who are of course, ciri's biological father and ciri's biological mother. and geralt is of course ciri's adoptive father. oh yeah, and cahir is also in love with ciri.

and i didn't put it on here, but crach an craite was one of the suitors for pavetta's hand and adoptive child of eist tuirseach, who became ciri's step-grandfather. ciri then had a childhood crush on crach's son hjalmar... and crach also at some point had a relationship with yennefer, who is of course geralt's lover and ciri's mother, so just add that on mentally, if you please

the only one not participating in this god-awful family-fuck is who else but angouleme no-last-name, which i am... utterly beside myself with gratitude for that!

just remember the absolutely cursed family tree-fuck that was the series of affairs between geralt’s hanza and the trastamara line in beauclair

#i like how i had to drop the romantic union lines down once to signify age difference #and then for dandelion and nique i had to drop it down twice #but nothing is worse than reynevan and MRS de apolda so i will refrain from complaining because it could be worse #ok not to say 'in my fic' but in my fic the primary values of regis' and the succubus' which clash #are their takes on human society #and because regis is so involved in human society and to the point of being besties with a witcher she cannot comprehend this #and when i was coming up with that i thought that's a bit mean and close-minded of her honestly. so what if regis is like humankin on tumbl #but actually seeing the clusterfuck that is the family trees and relations here. parents children affairs lovers incest age and pregnancy #all i have to say is that the succubus is right. what the fuck lmao. why are you getting involved in this #the witcher books #book: lady of the lake #f: a hansa's a hansa #replies #horsegirlcahir #oh also if i'm throwing out headcanons then regis does not reciprocate countess notturna's advances #but he's too polite to turn her down hard so he just disappears whenever she is trying to find him

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starry-bi-sky · 8 months ago

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DPxDC Masterpost

Almost all of my DPDC posts have the #Danny Fenton is Not the Ghost King tags, barring perhaps my earliest aus like my Thomas Wayne Au (which will be included in the post). This tag includes art i've made, asks i've answered, and non-fic au posts I've created. This is my main tag!

DPxDC posts under the main tag that don't have their own tag: Danny's Life-Changing Cross-Dimensional Roadtrip with A De-Aged Batman Danny is also Bruce Wayne (Starry goes back to their middle school roots) Danny being the first batkid (if i can get the creative juices flowing I will expand on this. mark my words) There is a Damian clone LOOSE in Amity Park. Oh wait, Danny's got him.

My Biggest DPxDC Aus #Danny Fenton is a Clone: all my posts talking about clone!Danny.

Clone Danny Masterpost: previously my pinned post. A no-powers au where Danny is also a clone of Bruce Wayne, also includes some clone^2

#Clone^2: Clone Damian + Clone Danny au combined, explores themes like identity, found family, and growing into your own as a person. Starting post Here.

#Childhood Friends Au or #Cfau: A childhood friends dead on main au that explores grief, how it may change a person, and how growing up in Crime Alley changed Danny. Contains heavier themes like smoking and mild violence.

#Danyal Al Ghul Au: Mostly contains my au where Danny is not Damian's twin, but his older brother! An excuse for me to delve into the psychological effects that growing up in the League would have on Danny that I don't really see in other DAG aus. Putting the 'assassin' in 'raised by assassins'.

My Minor DPxDC Aus Danny Fenton is Thomas Wayne: an oldie but a goodie! An reveal gone wrong au where Danny decides to go by his middle name 'Thomas' shortly after the events of TUE, and leaves Amity Park two years later. He finds out that Vlad cloned him again and finds an infant in the lab. Danny takes the baby, names him Bruce, and ends up adopted by the Waynes.

#Danny Fenton is Jason Todd au: An au where Danny is Jason Todd! He was adopted by the Fentons shortly after the events of the carjacking.

#Older Brother Danny: contains all of my aus where Danny is an Older Brother. This currently includes only my DAG posts but it's not limited to Danyal Al Ghul.

#Changeling Danny: a half-ghost? oh, wait, no. that's a changeling. even worse! Danny's got latent fey blood from a Fenton getting freaky with a faerie some dozen generations ago, and it reactivated with a fervor when he had his accident! Instead of a halfa, he became one of the Fair Folk.

#Blood blossom au: currently the name for the time being. A Nightingale/First Batkid au where Vlad poisons Danny with blood blossom extract, and it results in Danny running to Batman! Currently only one post, but it has a lot of branching pathways in the reblogs. Batdad centered! Now comes with its own fanfic!

#tales of the passerine: the official au name for my "Danny being the first batkid" post! This au is what inspired changeling Danny. It's the idea that Danny was the first to be adopted by Bruce, and features me favoring batdad over "lmfao Danny goes fuck you bruce and adopts the other kids" au. Because I want batdad.

(Nightingale is, so far, the official vigilante name for the Eldest Batkid Danny concept on my blog.)

#mother of monsters danny: specifically its mother of monsters dan but i digress. I was messing around with my fem!Danyal au and boom! Her evil timeline self is Layal, the terrifying Mother of Monsters who raises any manner of monstrous beasts. I love her <3

#martha knight au same song, different dance! This is a fem danny version of my aforementioned "Danny is Thomas Wayne" au. Except this time around, Danny is Martha! Arguably my favorite between the two, I feel like I'm able to do more with her than Thomas. Her au's vibe is After All by Christine Ebersole

Bonus Excerpt: a ficlet I made in response to a DPxDC Dead on Main prompt! It's not under the main tag as I didn't make the post, however it can be found if you search #fem danny fenton on my blog. I actually really love this idea so I may make it its own tag in the future.

#dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc masterpost #starry's au masterposts #maybe i should make individual masterposts for the bigger aus? Like for CFAU. Danyal Al Ghul. and Clone^2. those are my Big Three rn <3 #danyal al ghul is my main muse for my drawings because this fucker is weirdly the easiest one to draw out of all the danny's. which i dont #get. the hardest danny to draw is fucking CFAU DANNY. It's the undercut its the damn undercut. also i can't get his face shape right??#for some reason?? clone danny is a hit or miss.

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hansolsticio · 2 months ago

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✦ — "pirralho". ᯓ p. jisung.

— park jisung × leitora. — 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗮: sugestivo. — 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3814. — 𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗼𝘀: age gap curtinho (o ji tem 19 e a pp uns 24), linguagem imprópria, fluxo de consciência (?), insinuação de sexo, o hyuck e o nana aparecem, size difference, pegação & "noona". — 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗮𝘀: essa fic é top #1 acontecimentos imprevisíveis

Batidas distantes misturadas a algo que parecia ser o seu nome te fizeram despertar. Não sabe quando caiu no sono e muito menos o que fazia antes de adormecer, mas respondeu por puro reflexo.

"Hm?"

"Tá viva? 'Tô tentando te acordar faz tempo.", era abafado, mas a voz da sua colega de apartamento era inconfundível. "Não vai se arrumar? Não quero chegar atrasada."

"Me arrumar?"

"O evento da atlética, criatura. Já esqueceu?", a menção te acordou de vez, ainda que tenha levado um tempinho para processar uma resposta. Sendo simplista, eventos da atlética significavam um monte de universitários gostosos reunidos num lugar só. E por "universitário gostoso" sua cabecinha só processava uma coisa: Jisung.

É... péssima ideia.

"Não sei se quero ir..."

"Ah, não! 'Cê prometeu que ia comigo, poxa...", a mulher choramingou. "Os meninos vão também.", a observação tinha a única função de te convencer, porém ela não exergara ainda que esse era exatamente o problema. "Eu já servi de acompanhante até pro batizado da sua priminha, _____. Qual é...", e, novamente, você seria vencida pela culpa.

O dilema aqui era: você nunca havia questionado tanto os seus próprios valores como nos últimos dias. Se perguntava se considerar uma diferença de idade tão minúscula quanto a que existia entre você e Jisung um obstáculo era exagero da sua parte. A parte mais antiquada da sua personalidade não apreciava estar questionando isso, porém era o que mais fazia ultimamente. Não sabe dizer o momento exato no qual "a chave virou" na sua cabeça, mas misteriosamente o interesse explícito que o mais novo tem em você deixou de ser uma piadinha e virou uma pedra no seu sapato.

De repente, a diferença de altura notável entre vocês dois se tornou algo intimidador. De repente, a voz caracteristicamente grave começou a te dar arrepios e o jeito que sua mão ficava minúscula perto da dele te incitava a ter pensamentos sujos demais. De repente, você se via cada vez mais tentada a revisitar todos os stories que o homem postava — desde os recorrentes surtos pelo Real Madrid até as malditas selfies pós-treino.

Era um sofrimento que somente o século vinte e um seria capaz de te proporcionar. Você podia bloquear Jisung? Claro que sim! Mas como iria fazer cessar a coceira na sua pele toda vez que cogitava a possibilidade de dar de cara com mais uma foto do rostinho avermelhado e todo molhadinho de suor? Isso para não falar do inferno da camiseta que ele sempre deixava em um dos ombros — um lembrete sugestivo de que não havia mais nada impedindo a visão do próprio corpo.

Entretanto, não era tão masoquista assim. Tanto que há muito tempo evitava acompanhar sua colega de apartamento nos treinos só para não acabar esbarrando em um Jisung gostoso 'pra caralho correndo feito louco atrás de uma bola. Na realidade, sequer se viam pessoalmente, mas nas raras ocasiões em que tinha o (des)prazer de estar na companhia de Jisung você se sentia contra a parede.

O Park não era invasivo, não fazia o tipo dele. Porém nunca foi como se precisasse. Os olhinhos fofos demais para um homem daquele tamanho e todos os "Noona's" arrastadinhos te diziam tudo o que você precisava saber. De certa forma, te quebrava ter quer pisar na confiança dele em todas as ocasiões possíveis — na sua cabeça, era a única solução plausível para o "problema".

Só que havia algo errado: você não era capaz de identificar o porquê dele estar tão atrevido nos últimos tempos, a confiança dele parecia crescer de uma maneira estupidamente rápida a cada encontro entre vocês. Era complicado. Talvez fosse culpa sua. Talvez você estivesse deixando muito óbvio o seu nervosismo perto do mais novo — era o que você pensava.

Você poderia perguntar a opinião da sua colega de apartamento e aspirante à melhor amiga Maya? Sim. Mas, nesse caso... não. Por mais detestável que soasse, você já havia tentado. Inclusive, o tom de inconformidade com o fato de Jisung ser, na sua visão, um pirralho, não foi suficiente para fazê-la dar outra solução que não fosse: "Você quer. Então pega.". E isso era exatamente o que você não queria ouvir! Ou queria?

Quase arrancava os próprios cabelos por não achar ninguém que estivesse de acordo com as suas convicções e nada parecia fazer muito sentido. Você temia estar enlouquecendo, pois não sabia responder para si própria em que momento começou a ver Jisung como um homem.

[...]

Antes mesmo de sair de casa já havia planejado exatamente como agir. Irredutível, iria manter o teatrinho de rejeição. Considerava-se madura demais para deixar um moleque ficar ditando seus pensamentos, poxa... era isso. Precisava manter Jisung longe. Era o único jeito de dar fim a essa história.

E por um tempo funcionou. Funcionou de forma excepcional. Você arrisca que seja pelo fato de sequer ter cruzado com Jisung nas duas primeiras horas que ficou dentro do recinto. Na verdade, não sabia se sentia felicidade ou desapontamento. Se o homem não estava presente, significava que você não precisaria quebrar a cabeça com ele — mas, droga, queria vê-lo... mesmo odiando admitir.

Só que você tinha que ter cuidado com o que desejava. Acabou por encontrar Jisung e se arrependeu imediatamente de estar ali. Mas não pelos motivos que havia imaginado. Diferente do rostinho carente que implora por sua atenção sempre que você está por perto, Jisung parecia confortável até demais. O semblante animadinho deixava explícito que ele deveria ter tomado três ou quatro copos de alguma coisa.

A animação dele passou a contrastar com o seu desgosto ao perceber que o homem tinha companhia. Companhia essa que estava perto demais e se sentia muito habituada em sussurrar seja lá o que fosse perto da orelha do garoto. Você já havia a visto algumas vezes, sabia que ela era da mesma turma de Jisung ou algo do tipo. Cada detalhe da interação capturava os seus olhos de um jeito nada agradável. Mas, ei! Isso não era da sua conta, era?

Não havia problema nenhum. Era isso que você queria, não? Sim, sim. Era sim. Jisung tinha mesmo era que flertar com gente da idade dele. Claro. Claro que sim. Mas por quê você ainda 'tava olhando? Isso é coisa de gente esquisita. Deveria parar de encarar. Okay... Jaemin! Isso, Jaemin. Fazia tanto tempo que vocês não se divertiam juntos, certo? Calma, mas o quê ele acabou de sussurrar no ouvido dela? Porra, e esse sorrisinho? Espera... você ainda estava olhando?

"Nana...", ofegou como uma pobre donzela aos pés de seu salvador. O problema é que seu salvador possuía uma única latinha de cerveja como arma e parecia não ter a mínima pretensão de te resgatar dessa fera inominável — o 'ciúmes'. Jaemin precisou de uma olhadinha de canto para achar Jisung e cinco segundos de análise às suas feições para te dar um veredito:

"Ihh, nessa história eu não me meto, _____.", balançou o indicador no ar, rindo em completa descrença. "Tô fora de problema.", deu um gole generoso na bebida, como quem tenta remediar o próprio riso.

"Não tem história nenhuma, Nana. Só quero dançar contigo.", mentir já foi uma das suas maiores habilidades, mas no momento sentia-se uma amadora.

"Não se faz de sonsa, vai...", entortou o rosto. Foi o suficiente para te estressar, detestava ser contrariada.

"Porra, até você?!"

"Até eu sim! 'Cê não 'tá sendo meio babaca , não?", nada seria capaz de ferir tanto seu ego quanto a realidade.

"Tô sendo coisa nenhuma. Vocês que ficam colocando pressão.", desconversou, já tentava sair dessa conversa tão rápido quanto entrou. Estava exausta de ouvir sempre as mesmas coisas de todo mundo dentro do seu ciclo — a visão que seus amigos sustentavam da 'situação' entre você e Jisung parecia ser a mesma, um consenso.

"A gente?!", exclamou. A partir daqui você estava certa que havia procurado ajuda no pior lugar possível, Jaemin era especialista em levar as coisas pro pessoal. "Você que é indecisa 'pra caralho! Dá fora no garoto até não aguentar mais, mas também não sabe largar a porra do osso.", soou genuinamente bravo, seus ouvidos até zuniram. "Se decide, _____.", aqui foram esgotados seus argumentos.

Sequer esforçou-se para dar um fim ao debate com Nana, já sentia a cabeça doer. Simplesmente se virou, sumindo entre os demais — precisava pensar. Mas, poxa, havia algo a ser pensado? Mesmo você, que era orgulhosa demais para admitir estar errada, já enxergava toda a tempestade que estava fazendo em algo relativamente simples: era sim ou não.

Enfiou-se no primeiro cômodo vazio que encontrou. Era uma espécie de adega que armazenava todo tipo de bebida quente possível, parecia ser bem cuidado, mas a iluminação era pouca. Ficou feliz só de não ter esbarrado em nenhum casal se comendo dentro da salinha. Recostou-se numa das bancadas mais ao canto, aproveitando o silêncio para checar o celular. Porém, ainda que ignorasse o elefante no meio da sala, não conseguia evitar de pensar em Jisung e na estupidez que circundava toda essa situação.

Era difícil calcular quanto tempo você fingiu estar entretida no próprio telefone. Divagava. Voltava a Jisung e em como ele parecia malditamente próximo da garota. A boca amargava em pensar na maneira com a qual as mãos grandes ficaram perto demais da cintura feminina. Porra. Não, não, não... não era certo. Deveria ser você. Jisung te queria, não queria?

Droga, parecia uma criança. Cismava com um brinquedinho que sequer estava dando atenção só por ter visto outro alguém se interessar por ele. Infantil, muito infantil. Jaemin tinha razão, não tinha? Detestava admitir.

A porta se abriu.

Maya?

Era a única resposta plausível. Não precisava de nenhum estranho te enchendo o saco no momento, não queria ninguém piorando a situação. Mas o corpo esguio que surgiu por detrás da fresta te mostrou que a situação podia sim piorar.

Jisung.

Quis rir, era inacreditável — digno de cinema, não? Quer dizer, era tão óbvio que chegava a ser ridículo acontecer. Entretanto, fazia sentido que acontecesse. Não era como se Jisung não estivesse te seguindo com os olhos desde que você presenciou a ceninha dele com a garota.

"A gente pode conversar?", essa pergunta nunca poderia ter um bom desfecho. Sua primeira atitude foi adotar uma postura arrogante. Sempre era assim quando se tratava dele, não era?

"Sobre?"

"Nós dois.", murmurou cuidadoso. Você não ouviu de início, mas a afirmação te fez soltar uma risadinha em escárnio assim que assimilou o que ele havia dito.

"E desde quando existe um 'nós', Jisung?", rebateu amarga, assistindo-o se calar. Jisung te encarou em silêncio, parecia ensaiar muita coisa na própria cabeça — ainda que os olhos parecessem meio vazios. A tensão de estar acorrentada ao olhar dele sem ter onde se esconder fazia você tremer por dentro. O homem finalmente suspirou, coçando a própria nuca com impaciência. "Que foi? Volta 'pra sua namoradinha.", arrependeu-se antes mesmo de falar, a atitude era resultado do nervosismo que sentia.

"Quê?", o Park franziu a testa.

"Não sei. Me diz você. Cansou de uma e veio atrás da outra? É coisa de moleque, Jisung."

"Não tenho nada com mulher nenhuma. 'Cê sabe muito bem quem eu quero.", explicou-se, ainda que não devesse nada a você. Começava a se exaltar — detestava ser tratado como criança.

"Não sei porra nenhuma, Jisung.", cuspiu as palavras. Assistiu-o suspirar exasperado.

"Você 'tá me cansando, noona...", pontuou, os braços se cruzando.

"Você que continua nessa palhaçada sozinho.", não se lembra de nenhuma ocasião da sua vida na qual foi tão imediata com as respostas. "Já te falei que gosto de homem. Homem de verdade.", o acréscimo fez Jisung levantar as sobrancelhas, um sorriso ofendido despontando nos lábios.

"E eu sou o quê? Me diz.", afastou-se da porta, caminhando em passos vagarosos na sua direção. Ele não sabia, mas estava quebrando a confiança que só a distância era capaz de te oferecer. Com a proximidade aumentando, seu rostinho teve que se erguer para acompanhar as feições do homem. Você já apertava as bordas da madeira atrás do seu quadril, inerte com o aroma de perfume masculino que te roubou o ar.

"Você...", virou o rosto, buscando algum tipo de resposta nas garrafas de whisky da estante do canto.

"Não. Fala olhando 'pra mim.", aproximou-se mais, o suficiente para ser a única coisa no seu campo de visão — não importa para onde resolvesse olhar. A respiração quente te embriagou, tanto pela tensão quanto pelo notável cheiro do álcool.

"Você bebeu, Jisung.", a constatação saiu meio engasgada. Sentia a pele arder, o ventre se apertar.

"Você também. Isso é desculpa?", por um momento o homem pareceu roubar o seu papel. Era afiado, parecia ter total noção de como te desmontar — Jisung, em ocasião alguma, agia dessa maneira. "Diz, _____. Por que eu não sou homem o suficiente 'pra você?", cada questionamento esgotava mais seu repertório de respostas, ainda que você não usasse nenhuma das poucas disponíveis. As mãos dele se apoiaram em cada lado do móvel atrás do seu corpo, te encurralando. E era quente, porra, muito quente. "O que falta em mim, hm?", abaixou-se, o rostinho se inclinando para acompanhar cada movimento dos seus olhos. Te intimidava.

"Não faz assim, Ji...", balbuciou. A boca seca... onde havia deixado seu copo? Não se lembrava de mais nada.

"Deixa eu provar.", a mudança de energia que acompanhou o pedido te lançou numa espiral. Agora era enfraquecido, arrastava-se pela garganta. "Deixa eu ser seu homem, noona.", uma súplica dengosa até demais — te balançou, você mal foi capaz de esconder. Não impediu o narizinho roçando contra sua bochecha, preocupada em sanar o frio na barriga. Sentia o corpo inteiro amolecendo, o jeitinho devoto que Jisung te olhava só piorava a situação. "Por favor...", a expressão lamuriosa exterminou qualquer possibilidade de negá-lo — droga, ele parecia querer tanto... seria crueldade não dar uma chance.

Cedeu e nunca sentiu tanto alívio. Aceitar a boquinha gostosa contra a sua foi como tirar um peso enorme das suas costas, peso esse que, na verdade, foi substituído por muito maior: perceber o quão intensa era a vontade que você tinha de Jisung — ia mais longe do que o seu discernimento te deixava ver. Sentia seu corpo inteiro ferver pelo homem. O beijo lascivo e meio desesperado fazia sua carne tremer, puxava-o como se dependesse daquilo, como se precisasse do peso dele em cima de você.

Estavam febris, os estalinhos molhados faziam vocês buscarem por mais da sensação gostosa. O encaixe do beijo deixava suas pernas moles e o jeito que Jisung gemia contra sua boca te fazia ter certeza de que ele sentia o mesmo. A língua tímida resvalando na sua fez seus olhos revirarem por trás das pálpebras — delícia, droga, uma delícia. Tomou as rédeas, sugando o músculo quentinho para dentro da boca, o homem firmou-se ainda mais contra o seu corpo.

Jisung era sensível, se esticava inteiro só para ter tudo de você. Cansou-se, as palmas envolveram a parte traseira da sua coxa, te levando pro colo dele num solavanco. Nem percebeu quando foi colocada em cima da bancada, ocupada demais em enfeitar o pescoço leitoso. Sentia que precisava marcá-lo, queria evitar que sequer olhassem na direção dele pelo resto da noite. Era seu, podia marcar o quanto quisesse. Precisava disso.

O corpo inteiro escorria num calor infernal. O homem te bebia sem hesitar, também estava sedento. Havia se tornado uma batalha estranha, Jisung te agarrava pela nuca para conseguir sorver a boquinha inchada e você constantemente se afastava para lamber o pescoço cheirosinho. Estavam agindo de uma forma patética, mas quem poderia julgar? Passaram tanto tempo desejando isso, porra... sentiam um tesão do caralho um no outro, não dava para segurar.

As mãos fortes pela sua cintura faziam seu corpo reagir por conta própria, rebolava meio contida, desejando ter algo embaixo de você. O rostinho se movia dengoso, quase ronronava contra a boca de Jisung. Sentiria vergonha de admitir o quanto estava pulsando, mas não conseguia fazer cessar a sensação. Droga, precisava...

Os dedinhos ágeis acharam o caminho para a barra da calça de Jisung, brincou com o botão insinuando abri-lo. O homem ondulou o quadril contra as suas mãos, mas contraditoriamente te agarrou pelo pulso, impedindo a ação.

"Espera...", ofegava, o rosto vermelhinho era decorado por algumas gotas de suor. "Eu nunca...", hesitou. Ainda embriagada com o momento você demorou tempo demais para assimilar.

"Quer dizer... nunca mesmo?", tentou ser casual.

"Nunca."

"Nem...?", mas falhou.

"Não. Nada."

Isso mudava muita coisa. Claro que mudava. Você seria a primeira de Jisung? Cacete...

"Com outra pessoa não...", ele acrescentou, mas foi possível ver o arrependimento acertá-lo em cheio. "Espera, pra quê eu falei isso?", desesperou-se. Você quis rir do jeitinho fofo, mas não queria deixá-lo mais encabulado.

"Relaxa, não tem problema.", assegurou, selando a bochecha rubra. "A gente não precisa.", beijou o cantinho da boca, arrastando os carinhos até a orelha sensível.

"Mas eu quero...", a confissão te fez tremer. Não podia, não nessas circunstâncias. "Me ensina...", o sussurro saiu em tom de súplica, a respiração quente contra sua orelha não fez um bom trabalho em te deixar pensar. "Prometo que aprendo rápido.", assegurou. Os olhos minavam uma ingenuidade estupidamente excitante.

"Tá louco?! Aqui não, Ji.", tentou dispensar a proposta de um jeito casual, rindo meio nervosa.

"Me leva 'pra sua casa então...", ele rebateu quase que no mesmo instante, as palmas avantajadas fechando o aperto na sua cintura.

"O quanto você bebeu?"

"Eu quero você.", ele se curvou de um jeito meio desconfortável, o rosto vermelhinho se enfiou no seu pescoço. Porra, Jisung era adorável e isso te deixava tão quente. "Por favor, noona.", a voz grave agora era pura manha. Você precisou apertar os olhos e respirar muito fundo para ser capaz de raciocinar outra coisa que não o homem no meio das suas pernas de um jeito tão gostoso.

"Tem gente demais aqui, Jisung.", argumentou num fio de voz. Sentia-o te puxar para a borda do balcão, as perninhas se abrindo ainda mais por reflexo.

"Ninguém vai ver. Eu te escondo.", um tanto desesperado, pareceu querer demonstrar a ideia. Arrumou a postura, os braços te cercando enquanto usava o próprio tamanho para ocultar seu corpinho. Voltou a te olhar de cima, as orbes entrando no decote da sua blusinha sem pudor algum. "Cê é tão pequenininha, porra...", murmurou, admirando a diferença explícita entre vocês dois.

O ar ficou preso dentro dos pulmões quando ele agarrou um dos seus pulsos, a mãozinha tornando-se inofensiva perto da de Jisung. Guiou sua palma para debaixo da própria camiseta, a pele firme do abdômen esquentando sua mão. Não conseguiu resistir, arrastou as unhas por ali — ainda que meio receosa. A reação física foi imediata, o ventre do Park se apertou embaixo dos seus dedos. O rostinho sedento te deixou igualmente desorientada.

Cacete. Jisung fazia você se sentir doente.

O aperto que circundava seu pulso timidamente te levou mais baixo. Não conseguiu parar de encará-lo, mesmo quando a aspereza do cinto que ele usava arranhou a sua pele. Seu estômago repuxava em expectativa. Estava claramente passando dos limites, porém esse pensamento não te impediu de envolver o volume pesadinho com a palma da mão. A mente ferveu sob o olhar do mais novo que te apertou com mais força, empurrando o próprio quadril contra sua palma.

"Porra..."

"É tão grande, Sungie...", arfou, deixando-o usar aquela parte do seu corpo como bem quisesse. Foi inevitável perder-se em todo tipo de pensamento sujo envolvendo Jisung e sobre como ele tinha a total capacidade de te arruinar, mas mal parecia ter noção disso. "E esse é o problema.", pontuou, rindo da expressão confusa do homem acima de você. "Você vai entender.", tentou assegurar. "Mas é por isso que a gente não pode fazer nada aqui, Ji...", o tom condescendente que você fez uso foi insuficiente para impedir o biquinho dengoso nas feições do homem. A característica adorável contrastava muito bem com o jeitinho imoral com o qual ele ainda estocava contra sua mão.

"Eu não aguento mais esperar, noona...", choramingou em tom de confissão. Sendo sincera, você admitia que já havia castigado Jisung por tempo demais. Porém, estava prestes a ser malvada com ele só mais um pouquinho.

"Volta pra lá, vai...", afastou a mão do íntimo do homem, ganhando um grunhido desapontado. "Se ficar quietinho até mais tarde, eu dou um jeito de te levar pro meu carro.", era o melhor que você conseguia oferecer no momento. E a proposta era tentadora, tanto que foi capaz de enxergar a expectativa no fundo dos olhinhos masculinos — Jisung era adorável.

"Mas vai demorar?", bufou impaciente.

"Você sobrevive."

"A gente não pode nem brincar um pouquinho?", acompanhando a sugestão os dedos que serpentearam até o interior das suas coxas te fizeram soltar um risinho contrariado. Quis abrir mais as perninhas, se insinuar contra as mãos dele... mas se conteve.

"Brincar?", o questionamento era pura ironia. Jisung paraceu não se importar, concordando com a cabeça e te roubando um selinho carente. "E você por acaso sabe fazer isso?"

"Não...", balbuciou, a baixa luz ainda te permitia ver o rostinho alvo enrubrescendo. "Mas eu-"

"Jisung?", o timbre soou atrás da porta e foi como se você já esperasse por isso, tanto que a primeira reação foi rir baixinho.

"Te falei.", você sussurrou, dando de ombros.

"Já saio!", ele esbravejou virando o rosto em direção à porta, os dedos pressionaram suas coxas por reflexo. A testa franzida e o maxilar proeminente demonstravam o quão irritado ele havia ficado com a interrupção. "Noona...", choramingou baixinho, o semblante mudando como mágica. As sobrancelhas agora apertavam-se de um jeitinho manhoso, a testa colando contra a sua. Sentiu suas pernas ficarem fracas novamente — queria explodir esse garoto.

"Espera mais um pouco, Sungie...", tentou consolá-lo num beijinho de esquimó lentinho. Jisung te apertou contra o próprio corpo, você mais uma vez sumiu dentro do abraço dele. "Comportadinho." sussurrou, selando o biquinho do homem que parecia não querer te soltar.

[...]

"Puta merda, apanhou lá dentro?", a questão veio em tom de zombaria e referia-se a todas as marcas avermelhadas nos braços e pescoço do Park.

Ainda dava para ouvir os dois conversando enquanto você esperava dentro da adega — coisa que, inclusive, só fez para não tornar tudo esquisito saindo junto com Jisung.

"Sossega, Hyuck.", ele rebateu, enfezado.

"Tá até falando mais grosso. Meu Deus, eles crescem tão rápido...", o homem mais velho dramatizou, até mesmo fingiu um choro falso. "Quem vê não diz que você era dessa altura uns dois anos atrás.", demonstrou esticando um dos braços lá em cima de um jeito comicamente elevado. "Nem vou contar pro hyung que 'cê finalmente perdeu o cabaço, é capaz dele cho- Ai, porra!", o som estalado antes da exclamação poderia ser interpretado como um tapa. "Eu nem falei alto..."

— 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗮𝘀²: sim, vai ter uma parte dois.

#ꫝ ' solie writes.#nct fanfic #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #park jisung x reader #park jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung scenarios #jisung fanfic

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adventures-in-mangaland · 4 months ago

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Another Dead Boy Detectives Fic Rec List

Netflix sucks and I'm sad, but the Dead Boy Detectives fandom continues to be awesome, so here are some more very quick fic recs!*

Tonight's the Night You Fight Your Best Mate's Dad by Opossum_Subatomic

Everyone's Alive College/University 5+1 things fic featuring Charles bringing Edwin coffee and slowburn payneland. Also Family/Wedding Drama involving Everyone Thinks They're Dating so acute is verges on Fake Dating. This author is seriously fantastic, everything they write is gold.

You should also check out Kissing Lessons, which is a high school AU that does what it says on the tin while also giving non-binary Monty and polyamory.

Ornithology by Rosie447

Monty gets a job working at Tragic Mick's. This one's not actually payneland, being gen and Monty-centric. I know, gasp. It's a fantastic and very sweet exploration of Monty discovering his sense of self post canon and works as a great metaphor for recovery from toxic family/relationships. Also, the ex-animal solidarity and bonding with Mick is lovely.

what some circumstance stole by Chrome

The Sandman crossover featuring Edwin and Hob being kidnapped and tortured together. Their friendship is really wholesome with eventual Father Figure and Found Family Feels for the whole agency and background Dreamling.

dandelion wine (life and death in summertime) by world_wanderer

Payneland Right Person Wrong Time AU in which neither of them die but they still meet and become friends. The May/December friendship is sweet but tragic, with a bittersweet ending. Superb.

Mirror Image by Anonymous

Charles' afterlife gets taken over my an evil shape-shifting doppelganger, leaving him with plenty of time to regret never talking to Edwin about his feelings. Angsty but with Feelings Realisation and the Power of Love and Friendship vibes.

my healing needed more than time by babyseraphim

Case fic with de-aged Charles! Baby Charles is precious but be prepared for discussions of childhood trauma/abuse.

The same author has also written I'm So Aces at Babysitting, which is a really cute two-chaptered AU featuring Charles and Edwin babysitting the kid versions of each other, with bonus Crystal and Niko doing the same. It's very wholesome and the author writes little kids really well.

Pouring into me by tragedy_machine

Love me some "Charles wants to date Edwin to figure out his feelings but gets turned down" fic. Feelings are hard, OK?

thank u, next by KiaraSayre

Edwin fucks and Charles seethes. It's very funny and also features some interesting worldbuilding with the Fae.

Like We've Never Known Hurt by dearheartdont

Just cute established relationship PWP and praise kink. So good.

all of these hollows by handwrittenhello

The boys are alive again but sans memories. Can they still find each other and prove their devotion to the Night Nurse?? While also evading heavenly and hellish forces trying to keep them apart??? Very interesting concept executed well.

Suo Gân by emryses

The agency takes on the case of a traumatised Edwardian ghost searching for her missing baby... Read it for Edwin family feels.

Where Primroses Bloom by PantryJesus

Reading aloud as a love language and Watership Down feels. Idk, I'm now convinced that Edwin is kind of rabbit-coded with the whole "if they catch you they'll kill you. But first they must catch you" thing. A lovely well written fic.

I'm so sick of online love by Hse11z5

College/University AU where the boys meet through a dating app. It's cute.

you can have the best of me, baby (and I will give you anything) by aletterinthenameofsanity

Again, it's the Friends with Benefits but with real feelings and mutual pining for me. Now has a Charles PoV companion fic.

True Love's Kiss by Asidian

In which Charles curses himself with a Sleeping Beauty enchantment in order to confirm his feelings for Edwin and Crystal is the real MVP. I love this one because the boys are both SO stupid but in very different in-character ways.

I also recommend Promised, in which they kind of play the Green card angle to keep Edwin out of Hell? Which honestly needs to be more of a trope. And Tight Quarters, starring the boys trapped in a magic circle, leading to Forced Proximity induced Feelings Realization (in more ways than one! 😉).

Something I Can Turn To by DontOffendTheBees

I love some domestic fluff, in this case as an Everyone's Alive/Childhood Friends AU in which the boys are poor but happy living together. I liked how they both survive their respective traumas, but Reality Ensues.

I also recommend Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light for a lovely but melancholy Soulmate AU that goes for the "seeing colours" trope for extra wistful angst.

Dining at the Ritz by TerresDeBrume

Meeting the Parents fic in which Edwin's parents are awful and Charles is Not Having It. This has Everyone Thinks They're Dating and autistic Edwin stimming representation, plus discussions of racism, classism and ableism. The fic is also part of a great Modern AU series in which the boys attended St Hilarion's at the same time and Charles saved Edwin from a non-supernatural but still almost deadly prank. Highly recommended!

The Case of the Couples Retreat by juliasfanart

Listen, I can't get enough of undercover fake dating/relationships at a couples retreat, OK? Some minor angst but overall very cute and fluffy.

acu (aysar cinematic universe) by ObsessedWithFandom

The agency is hired to solve the mystery of Charles' death and bring his killers to justice. I'm genuinely obsessed with this series; I love its OCs and Charles having an exboyfriend gives Edwin a fun crisis. Plus haunting Charles' killers is very satisfying and cathartic. Just imagine they're Netflix execs, y'all.

*Not actually quick, as it turns out. 😅

I love doing these lists because I always think I've only got a few recs and then I look back over my recent bookmarks and I've got a metric ton of great fics to rec. You guys are so talented. ❤️

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

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i can see you (miguel o'hara's version)

pairing: professor/mentor!miguel o’hara x graduate assistant!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4.5k

summary:

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man.

But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

author's note:

my first (but probably not my last) miguel o'hara fic based on taylor swift's song "i can see you" from speak now tv. if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or commenting and letting me know your thoughts!

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - no powers, age gap (undefined), presence of power dynamics (teacher/student), author took scientific liberties (forgive her, its been 10 years since bio II lab), pineapple on pizza, potentially bad spanish translations, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), miguel picking reader up, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, pet names, praise kink, competency kink, dirty talk. let me know if i've missed anything!

Translations you may need:

Universidad Estatal de Nueva York - State University of New York

Sí - Yes

Dios mío - My god

El Origen de la Genética Mutante - The Origen of Mutant Genetics

Mierda - Shit

Te lo prometo - I promise you

Lo juro por Dios - I swear to god

Arañita - little spider

Cállate - be quiet

Mirame - look at me

te sientes tan bien - you feel so good

Perfecto - perfect

________

You’re sitting in the front row, in the seat you’ve claimed as your spot, watching Dr. O’Hara pace in front of the projector screen that displays today’s lesson notes.

“And what is the hallmark of this mutant gene that demonstrates its incompatibility for transmutation?” He asks the silent room of undergraduates that have found themselves on the roster for his Mutation Genomics III course at Universidad Estatal de Nueva York.

A few hands go up around the room and Dr. O’Hara points to a student in the back who says, “Uh, it’s got a spiked protein arrangement that can’t be modified?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Dr. O’Hara asks. There’s a sprinkle of laughter in the room and a smirk tilts his lips briefly.

“An answer,” the student says more confidently. Dr. O’Hara nods.

“Correct, but that’s not the whole picture,” he says. His eyes catch yours and he gestures for you to join him. Your eyes go wide as you stand and walk to his side at the front of the class. “I’m sure some of you that actually use your available resources to pass my class recognize my teaching assistant. And if you don’t, I recommend visiting her office hours during this section because this is her area of research.”

Your cheeks feel warm as everyone’s attention falls to you. Dr. O’Hara hands you the data pad and steps back, giving you an encouraging nod. You tap the screen, bringing the diagram up on the holo projector and making it larger.

“You’re correct that the spiked protein arrangement can’t be modified, but there’s something more limiting in this particular model. If you look at it from this angle—,” you spin the DNA diagram, “you’ll see something else hindering the modification process. What do you see?”

Hands go up. Dr. O’Hara points to another student who says, “There’s a gap jump. The spike protein would continue to travel across the gap jump and avoid any inserts.”

“Exactly. So, what’s the potential alternative?”

“Fill the gap. Target the spike protein in your modification cycle,” Dr. O’Hara finishes. “That’s all for today. Your exam next Wednesday will include this presentation, so don’t act surprised when you see the questions.”

A few students stop to speak with Dr. O’Hara as you gather your bag from your desk. His low voice calls your name, the timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine as you step up to his desk.

“You’re running a sequence right now, sí?” He asks, shuffling a stack of papers into order.

“Yes, it should finish around seven tonight. Sorry, I know that it's late for a Friday,” you reply. He waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll see you in the lab.” His brown eyes flick to yours and your stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat, same as it always does when he looks at you.

Dr. Miguel O’Hara makes you nervous. Not only because he’s one of the most notable researchers in the field of mutant genomics, but also because he’s so handsome he leaves you breathless. He’s tall, towering over most men you’ve met, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that are always covered by a suit and tie in the classroom or a lab coat in the research lab. His tan skin is complemented by dark hair and brown eyes that make you lose your train of thought when you stare into them for too long.

Which…is exactly what you’re doing now.

You clear your throat, stepping back from his desk. Had you been leaning closer? Christ, you hope not. You give him a brief smile before responding, “Yeah, see you tonight. Thank you, Dr. O’Hara!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Miguel?” He calls after you.

“Maybe when I’ve cracked the sequence!”

________

Miguel watches your hips sway in the jeans you wore to class today, the denim hugging your curves so well he has to bite back a groan. The door to the lecture hall slams shut behind you and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw in frustration.

You drive him crazy. Every class period you’re sitting in the front row, watching him as you tap your pen to your lips or leaning over your desk just enough to give him a glimpse down your blouse or dress. Or you’re in the lab, delicately handling samples and extractions with a level of competency beyond your years, your lip caught between your teeth as you analyze a sequencing output.

He looks forward to and dreads your impending graduation in equal measure, being free from the constant temptation but losing the greatest researcher he’s met in years.

Miguel finishes gathering his belongings as the door opens and the next lecturer comes in, nodding at him in greeting. As he steps out into the warm Nueva York air, he has a weird sense that something big is coming.

He just doesn’t know what.

________

Miguel is waiting for you outside of his double locked research lab that evening, suit jacket hung over his arm and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal tan forearms dusted with dark hair. Your brain nearly short circuits at the sight, conjuring up images of those arms wrapped around your—

No, you think. He’s your mentor. Your handsome, intelligent, and very serious mentor.

He looks up as you approach, corners of his lips tilting the slightest bit. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, you can’t be sure, but he presses his palm to the biometric lock and the heavy metal doors slide open. He steps inside ahead of you, putting his face in the frame of the security camera. A red laser scans his face and a light above the second locked door goes from red to green, the click of the lock disengaging echoing in the anteroom.

You follow him through the door and into his research lab. The fluorescent lights glimmer off the chrome equipment and pristine bench surfaces. A machine whirs, running the sequence analysis you’ve been waiting on.

“LYLA, what’s the status?” Dr. O’Hara says as he sets his belongings on the desk in the corner.

“Sequence will complete on schedule. Also, your specimen delivery is available in the ultra low freezer,” Dr. O’Hara’s AI assistant, LYLA, announces, feminine voice carrying through the room.

“I have a surprise for you,” Dr. O’Hara says, tugging on his lab coat as he walks towards the ultra low freezer.

“A surprise?” You ask, setting your stuff down at the assistant’s work space.

There’s the beep of a passcode being entered and the heavy freezer door being opened and shut. He’s holding a tray of cryovials, the contents varying in color. He sets the tray on a bench top near your desk and pulls one out, holding it up to the light.

“Isolated arachnoid mutagen,” he says. Your mouth drops open in shock. You rush forward, pressing in close to stare up at the vial with him.

“You’re kidding,” you whisper. He hands the vial to you, fingers brushing yours. You hold it between your thumb and index finger to inspect the suspension, red in color with tiny flecks of black. “Dr. O’Hara, this is insane. How did you even get this?”

“A guy owed me a favor,” he says. You glance up at his face and you’re suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. One deep breath and your chest would probably graze his, and did you just imagine his eyes dropping to your lips?

“That’s one hell of a favor,” you murmur, stepping back. “You want me to work on the extraction?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“You say that like I’m not your research assistant. You can tell me to do anything.” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes go wide and you cough. “I mean, you know, lab related. Research stuff. Yeah. I’ll get started on this. LYLA? Power up the centrifuge and thermocycler, please.”

“Centrifuge is online. Thermocycler will reach optimal processing temperature in t-minus five minutes,” LYLA replies.

You set up all the necessary supplies and prepare the sample for the thermocycler, going through the motions that are now part of your muscle memory - extract, vortex, centrifuge, extract, wash, set in ice. You set your tray of samples into the thermocycler and remove your gloves to hit the start button.

________

Miguel watches you run the PCR test, fixated on the confidence with which you complete each step and your words from earlier continue to echo in his head.

“You can tell me to do anything.”

Dios mío, he thinks. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to will away the possibilities that anything could entail.

“Sequence results are available. Would you like to review now?” LYLA asks.

“Display,” Miguel says. You spin on your stool to view the hologram of the spliced DNA you prepared. He notices an issue immediately.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stepping up to the control screen and spinning the model. “There’s a deletion.”

“You knew there was a risk of that.”

You zoom in on the model DNA strand, a broken gap shown in the mutation. “I know there was a risk, but it should have worked.”

Miguel crosses his arms and watches as you bring up the transillumination image of the DNA you had attempted to merge with a human sample. “You wanted it to work. Science is finite. There is no room for should.”

You glance at him. You look like you’re about to say something when the thermocycler beeps and he’s left to wonder what you would have said as you busy yourself with removing your tray of DNA samples. He leans against the bench as you assemble the agarose gel for electrophoresis.

“Tell me, why do you think there was a deletion?” He asks.

“The mutagen was incompatible with the human strand,” you murmur, adding dye to your vials. “Just the same as it has been the last dozen times.”

You’ve loaded the wells of the gel with your sample and set it in the tank, closing the lid and turning on the power supply. Miguel takes the remaining tray of arachnid samples to the freezer while your procedure runs. He understands your frustration, he’s run his fair share of failed experiments after all.

After about an hour, the hum of the electrical current from the electrophoresis tank shuts off. Miguel, who had been reviewing a journal submission for El Origen de la Genética Mutante, joins you at the bench as you remove your gel and set it on the UV transilluminator.

“LYLA, scan and project,” you ask the AI assistant. Miguel stands behind you, looking at the DNA bands you’ve generated. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s so close he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, something citrusy that reminds him of summer.

You jump suddenly, back colliding with his chest. His hands come up to grip your waist, steadying you as you turn to face him, face lit up in the brightest grin.

“Miguel, look. This arachnid mutagen. It’s a potential match for insertion!” You say excitedly. “It has the same length as the deletion seen with the scorpion mutagen.”

“LYLA, show the current projection against the scorpion scan,” he says. The two images appear side by side and it’s clear that the band of arachnid mutagen fits definitively in a space that appears void in the scorpion samples. “Mierda.”

“You see it, right?” You ask. It’s then that Miguel realizes he’s still got his hands on your waist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching as your eyes go the slightest bit darker at the pressure.

“I can see it,” he murmurs. He wants so desperately to lean in closer, to back your body up until you’re pressed between the wall and his body, nowhere to go as his lips explore yours.

But he doesn’t. He drops his hands and puts much needed space between your bodies. He clears his throat.

“Prepare a combined sample,” Miguel says. You blink, checking your watch.

“It’s almost nine. Running a new combined sample would mean we’re here until close to midnight.”

“I’m familiar with how time passes, sí.”

“Are you sure you want—“

Miguel sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re on the verge of one of the greatest scientific discoveries in the last decade. Do you think I give a shit about having to stay late? What kind of mentor would I be if I told you, ‘Oh just wait until Monday to change the scientific world’?”

“One with a work-life balance, probably,” you reply with a giggle. Miguel raises his eyebrows at you. “Okay, okay, combined sample. I’m on it.”

As you rush around the lab, it hits him that you called him Miguel. Not Dr. O’Hara. He’s not sure what that means but he’s certain he wants to hear his name from your lips again.

_______

Dr. O’Hara orders food while your new combined sequence runs, begrudgingly agreeing to a half pineapple and half sausage pizza to split. You’re sitting outside of the lab in the empty hallway, pizza box between you as you eat the slices over grease stained napkins.

“What are your plans for after graduation?” Dr. O’Hara asks. You shrug.

“Probably get my doctorate. No one takes you seriously in this field without one.”

He frowns. “You’re on the cusp of a major breakthrough, one that could change our understanding of genetic modifications and mutants as we know it.”

“Yeah, and it’s coming from your lab. You’ll get listed as the first author, that’s how this goes.” You pick at your pizza crust, tearing the bread into tiny pieces that you sweep back into the box.

“I won’t let that happen. If this works, you’ll be the first name on that paper,” Dr. O’Hara says vehemently. “Te lo prometo.”

You smile, caught in his gaze for a brief moment before an alarm rings from his watch. LYLA announces, “Sequencing complete.”

Dr. O’Hara stands, holding a hand out to you. You grasp his broad palm and he pulls you up with ease, the force of it making you stumble slightly. You press a hand to his chest to steady yourself, marveling at how solid he feels beneath your palm.

“Sorry. Slipped,” you murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a crease between his brow and storms in his eyes. His watch beeps again and he releases your hand to silence it, the spell broken between you.

He unlocks the lab doors and you join him at the holoprojector, taking a deep breath. Dr. O’Hara brings up the sequence analysis, the hologram coming to life in the space between you. Your eyes scan the model, checking for gaps, deletions, frayed nucleotides, anything that could mean your procedure didn’t work.

You turn the projection this way and that, looking at it from every angle. You scan the result output reading, eyes jumping to the green SEQUENCING SUCCESSFUL text at the bottom.

You turn to face Dr. O’Hara, eyes wide with surprise. “It worked.”

“It did,” he replies.

“It worked,” you say again. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, your grin so wide it hurts your cheeks as you rush forward shouting, “It worked!”

Dr. O’Hara’s arms open to catch you, wrapping around your waist as he lifts you from the ground and spins you. He’s smiling, a rare sight for such a serious man, and it makes your heart pound in your chest as you stare up into his face.

“Dr. O’Hara?” You ask as he sets you down, his arms still wrapped tight around your back. “What—“

His lips collide with yours, stealing your breath from your lungs and your words from your brain as you melt against his broad body. The kiss is anything but gentle, with Miguel acting like a man starved as his tongue sweeps into your mouth.

“Dr. O’Hara—“

“Lo juro por Dios, if you call me that one more time,” he growls, lips trailing down your neck with wet kisses, “Miguel. Say it.”

“M-Miguel,” you whimper. He smiles against your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, making you gasp.

“That’s right,” he says, lifting his head. His brown eyes have gone dark and he’s smirking as his hands find the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting across the skin of your abdomen and dipping beneath the waist of your jeans. “Tell me what you want, arañita.”

Rather than trust your voice, you bring your own hands to his shirt collar, working at the buttons of his dress shirt as he opens the fly of your pants. He slips his hand lower just as you reach the last button of his shirt, revealing the tight white t-shirt that outlines his impressive chest.

His fingers rub you over your panties and you feel your knees buckle at the delicious friction. Miguel chuckles, removing his hand to grip the backs of your thighs and lift you against him, your legs wrapping around his trim waist and your hands holding onto his shoulders. He sets you down by his desk, reaching around you to sweep the surface clean, pens and paper falling to the floor.

“In a rush are we?” You say with a laugh. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cállate.” He kneels before you, lifting each foot to remove your shoes before turning you to face the desk with his hands on your hips. He grasps the waist of your jeans and shimmies the material down over your hips. When they’re pooled around your ankles, his warm palms grip each ass cheek roughly, spreading you open. “This pussy is even prettier than I imagined,” he groans.

“You think about my pussy a lot, Dr. O’Hara?” You ask innocently. A palm lands a smack to your ass cheek, heat blooming across your skin as you gasp.

“Don’t play dumb, baby, I know you’ve thought about this just as much. You think I can’t see it. Trust me, I can see you watching me in class with those pretty little lips wrapped around your pen, wishing it was something else. Isn’t that right?”

You gasp as he runs his thick fingers through your soaked folds, reaching forward only enough to graze your clit without giving it the attention you desperately want. He leans himself over you, his chest pressed to your back and his lips grazing your ear as he says, “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, the confession earning you that delicious friction, his fingers drawing messy circles around the sensitive nub. He withdraws too soon for your liking, a whine falling from your lips that he shushes, his warm breath on your pussy. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, surprised to find him on his knees.

As you watch, he spreads your cheeks once more before leaning in, licking from your clit to your entrance with a rough groan. Your head drops down, hitting the surface of the desk with a thump as he eats you out like a man who’s found water in a desert. The sounds echoing in the lab are downright indecent, deep groans of appreciation against your cunt and desperate whines from your lips.

“Miguel,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still as his tongue drives you closer to the cliff’s edge of release. “Miguel, I’m gonna cum!”

The man only grips your hips harder, fingers digging deep as he holds you still and doubles his efforts. The thread you’re hanging on by snaps, sending you falling into ecstasy as your muscles go tight and your breath leaves you in a shout of his name as you unravel.

He pulls away only long enough to stand and turn you to face him, lifting you so that you’re sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread by his body. He wastes no time slipping two thick fingers inside of your still fluttering cunt, his grin sharp as he sets a pace that has you trying to wiggle away to escape the overstimulation.

“Ah, Miguel!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs. His free hand shoves one thigh wide, pressing it to the desk. “What–”

“Cum for me again, I need to see your face this time,” he demands. He curls his fingers, pressing against your front wall with each drag of his hand from your body.

“I can’t!”

“What was it you said to me earlier? I can tell you to do anything?” He curls his fingers harder, focusing his efforts on a spot that has you squirming, desperate to get away and to cum in equal measure. “I’m telling you to cum again, arañita, so be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, the tightness in your abdomen unraveling as you clench around his fingers. His movements slow as you try to catch your breath until he’s withdrawing, leaving you feeling disparagingly empty.

“Mirame,” Miguel says. You lift your head, pushing yourself up on your elbows and watching as he unbuckles his belt. “You made a mess, baby.”

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you notice the wet stains on the front of his gray slacks. The feeling is short lived, however, as Miguel unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his thighs along with his boxers, kicking them to the side as he reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off. You’re blown away by how stunning he is, broad shoulders and chest that lead to sculpted abs and a defined adonis belt that draws your eyes to his thick and intimidatingly long cock.

“There’s no way that’s going to fit,” you tell him nervously.

“Why don’t we test that hypothesis?” He asks, taking himself in hand. You blink at him.

“Did…did you just make a joke?” Laughter bubbles up your chest until it’s spilling into the room, your shoulders shaking with the force of it. Miguel takes himself in hand, notching the broad head of his length to your dripping entrance and sliding inside the barest amount, just the tip, but it has your laughter morphing into gasps.

“Mierda,” he murmurs, gaze fixed where your bodies connect. “So fucking tight, arañita.”

You feel like he’s splitting you apart, the stretch deep and all consuming as he fits himself inside of you, drawing back after each inch and slowly thrusting back in and giving you more of his cock in the process.

“You’re so close,” he tells you. “You’re doing so good for me. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good, Miguel,” you answer honestly. “I’m so full.”

“Fucking right you are,” he growls. His hands shove your blouse up, bunching the fabric under your armpits to expose your breasts. He tugs the cups of your bra down before leaning forward, the last bit of his length slipping inside of you as his lips wrap around a pert nipple and his hand gropes the opposite breast.

Your back arches at all the sensation - the fullness and stretch of him inside of you, the warmth of his mouth and the pinch of his fingers. He moves his mouth to your other breast and looks up at you through dark lashes with darker eyes as he licks the taut peak while holding your gaze.

His hips draw back, the drag of each inch from your body exquisite torture until he slams into you, the force of it sliding you up the desk. You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders and your fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents as you cling to him.

Miguel stands, his arms looping beneath your thighs so that the backs of your knees rest across his forearms, spreading you open as he picks up his pace. He looks down at your body like it’s his greatest discovery.

“Fuck, fuck, te sientes tan bien,” he growls.

“Miguel,” you moan, “please, please, please!”

“What are you begging for, arañita? Tell me.”

“Wanna cum, please, Miguel,” you beg. He drops your legs, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of your neck, urging you to sit up. You keep one hand planted on the desk behind you, the other diving into his thick, dark hair, pulling at the strands.

He drags his strong nose along your jaw as he murmurs, “Greedy girl, but I’ll give you what you need. Won’t I?”

“Uh huh,” you moan in response. His other hand settles at the base of your throat and his eyes hold a question that has your pussy clenching around him in anticipation.

His palm creeps up, strong fingers wrapping around your delicate throat, squeezing the sides the slightest bit. Your eyes roll back at the pressure.

“Look at me,” Miguel demands, “look at me while I make you cum again with my hand around your pretty throat.”

You gasp for air as he pounds into you, your release sparkling at the edges of your vision. It explodes like a supernova across your nerves, your muscles tightening around him and making him moan, a deep rumble that you echo as his movements grow erratic.

He slams deep inside of you, cock pulsing and filling you with warmth as he groans your name, head dropped to your shoulder. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as the sweat on your skin cools and you run your fingers through his hair.

“That was—“

“Perfecto,” he finishes, lifting his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, one that has your heart pounding even harder than the lust filled ones from earlier. “It’s late. Let’s get this cleaned up and get you home. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you argue. He scowls at you as you continue to say, “No, seriously, you don’t need to go out of your way—“

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Miguel asks. He holds your face in his hands as he says, “Get dressed. I’m driving you home.”

He steps back, the absence of him making you feel empty as you carefully stand from the desk on shaky legs. He hands you your jeans and you look around in confusion.

“Have you seen my underwear?” You ask.

“Hm? No, I don’t see them,” he hums, buttoning his slacks. The stain from earlier has blessedly faded.

You shrug, pulling your jeans on and fixing your blouse. Miguel cleans up the stuff he’d knocked from the desk, putting it all back in haphazard piles and grabbing his bag. He holds his hand out to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. He must sense the hesitation you’re feeling when you don’t immediately grab his hand because he steps close, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “No one will see us. It’ll be our secret.”

You nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Just this once?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, arañita.”

The most fantastic fanart by narutoss.ramen on insta that fits the vibe of professor! miguel:

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