#all the buttons are in the same spots everything looks and feels the same this is so great

[sashaisready]

Feel The Burn: Chapter 6

Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Series Masterlist

Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.

Wordcount: Approx 3.5k

(Warnings for panic attacks in this chapter)

Hey gang, back again! Thanks for all of the love you've shared for this series, your comments/reblogs really make my day- truly. We've had a lot of lovely Chris lately so thought I'd bring back the mothertucker himself 😁 As always, thank you for any engagement.

“It’s fibula! Fibula!” Lance exclaims in a heightened whisper as he smacks his hand on the table.

“Shh! Don’t let other teams hear you!” you admonish, “and are you sure? It’s definitely not femur?”

“Of course I’m sure! The femur is higher up. The fibula is here,” he pats the spot on his leg in demonstration, his voice strained with frustration. “Can you trust me, please? I know this stuff! It’s my job!”

“I think we gotta go with him,” Kat admits, “he doesneed to know anatomy for his coaching and trainer stuff or whatever…”

Matt and the others nod in agreement as Lance smirks at you victoriously. You sigh and dejectedly scribble down fibula on the answer sheet.

“Fine…but if you’re wrong…”

“I’m not wrong…”

“But if you are…”

“Not an option…and oh,” he jabs the page with his finger, “fibula only has one ‘b’ by the way…”

“And which bone is this?” you ask childishly as you flip him off.

“Well, that depends, it’s actually several bones…”

Kat groans and snatches the answer sheet away from you, “quit it, you guys! You’ve been bickering all through this!”

She’s right, you have.  You know that your behaviour has been incredibly juvenile, but you can’t stop yourself. Lance knows exactly how to press your buttons and any attempts to rise above it have been thwarted by your own anger that you can’t seem to keep under control. He just gets under your skin!

And if you are being self-aware, there’s probably still some remnants of hurt simmering under the surface that you haven’t fully worked through yet.

“We’re going to take a short break before the next round,” the bartender announces on the microphone, “and just a reminder for teams to keep it down when we’re reading the questions…”

He looks over pointedly at your table. Lance sits up straight and glares over at the other tables, “Yeah…you heard him – you’re being very disruptive,” he says towards the other teams as he crosses his arms, his tone reprimanding as they stare back incredulously. You manage to stifle a laugh at their indignant faces.

Matt goes up to the bar for another round of drinks as the rest of you settle into the break, the sound of chatting and laughter filling the busy bar as people relax and mingle.

“Soo…” Kat practically shrieks as she drags her chair closer to yours, “now we can talk - tell me EVERYTHING. How did the date go? When am I meeting him properly?! I barely said hi at the party…”

“Oh, is this Chaz?” Lance innocently interjects.

You scoff and glower at him over your shoulder as you turn your body away from him to face Kat, “his name is Chris”.

“Right, Chris. Sorry. Just a very forgettable name I guess…Lotta guys out there named Chris, you know…”

You ignore him and turn your attention back to Kat, “it was great. We went out for cocktails, had a blast. He drove me home. He’s a great guy…” you smile.

“Drove you home after drinking? Red flag,” Lance chimes in from behind you. You ignore him again.

“…he’s…he’s really nice,” you continue on, unable to mask the dreamy smile that creeps onto your face. “He’s very upfront about how he feels, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kinda guy, you know? It’s refreshing…We’re just seeing how it goes, taking each day as it comes, but I really like him. We’re having dinner at the weekend.”

Lance is uncharacteristically silent. You don’t look at him but in your peripheral see that he takes a quiet sip of his drink.

“That’s great,” Kat smiles earnestly as she places her hand onto yours, “I’m really happy for you, babe, you deserve it”.

She's right, you do. You return her smile but suddenly feel very aware of Lance’s presence looming behind you as you share more about the date. He has no smart aleck quips, no sassy putdowns, there’s just a very heavy silence. You can practically feel his eyes burning into the back of your head. You hear him as he shifts awkwardly in his seat, his fingers drumming on the table as if trying to release pent-up energy.

You can’t help but revel a little in his discomfort. After all, he treated you very badly – discarding you like nothing and then accusing you of doing things you hadn’t. He hadn’t seemed to consider that you could bounce back so quickly, or that another man would want you – and want you so unashamedly. More fool him. If this experience had taught you anything, it was not to underestimate yourself or your worth. It may sound petty, but there was some satisfaction in showing him what he was missing.

Matt arrives back from the bar with a loaded tray and begins handing out the drinks, “oh shoot, I forgot Marcy’s vodka soda…” he grumbles.

Out of nowhere you suddenly feel quite overwhelmed, maybe the significance of talking about your feelings for Chris out loud…the unresolved pain from how Lance had hurt you…the exciting but still scary pivot to actively prioritising yourself. It’s a lot. You abruptly feel too hot, far too close to everyone, a tight ache pulsing in your chest as sweat pools at the back of your neck. It feels like your body is screaming that you need to get the hell out of there. You try to lock your focus onto keeping your breathing even as Kat obliviously scolds Matt for his oversight.

“I’ll get it,” you say a little too quickly as you shoot up on your feet and grab your purse, “gonna grab some water anyway…”

“Thanks!” chirps Marcy.

“Okay babe, be quick – they’re starting again soon,” Kat adds.

You nod quickly and make a beeline for the bar, grateful just to have some breathing room again. A brief respite while you try and figure out what's made you freak out...and how to stop it. You order the drinks between shaky breaths, not feeling able to fully fill up your lungs as the bartender eyes you with concern and prepares your order.

“You okay?” Lance asks as he appears from nowhere and slides up next to you.

“Lance, please,” you tell him as you keep your attention on the busy bartender, your voice unfortunately more pleading than demanding, “not now, alright? I don’t want any shit”.

“I’m not here to give you shit,” he leans on the bar, his tone softening, “you looked like you were having a panic attack or something. I came to check you were okay”.

“And make some joke…some needling remark…” you jeer.

“No,” he says firmly.

You look up at him properly for the first time, he’s watching you carefully – his smirk missing for the first time that night. He furrows his brows as he assesses you. He pauses, then lifts his hand as if to touch your shoulder before seeming to think better of it – snapping it back to where it was.

You glance over at your table, your friends oblivious. How did Lance, of all people, pick up on what they’d missed? And you were so sure you were hiding it well…

“I’m fine,” you mutter softly. The bartender gives you the drinks and you add them to the tab, taking a gentle sip of your water. It still feels like you’re struggling to find your breath. You’re seconds away from bolting out of the door. You’ve been anxious before, but have never experienced anything like this.

“I just felt a little-it’s hot in here, is all” you stammer.

He nods, “it is warm, yeah. Hopefully that water helps you feel…cooler”.

It hangs in the air unspoken, but it’s clear he’s not fully buying what you’re selling.

“We don’t have to talk. I’m just going to be over here, to make sure you’re okay,” he takes a step back and gives you physical space.

You roll your eyes and shrug, “do whatever you want. I don’t care”.

“Take a really deep breath,” he says commandingly.

“I don’t need-”

“Just humour me and do it would ya? And I’ll go back to the table and leave you in peace”.

“Ugh. Fine…”

You begrudgingly inhale deeply, blowing the air out of your mouth. You won’t admit it, but it feels a little better.

“Good. But do it again, slower this time. When you exhale, do it slowly. Make an ‘o’ shape with your lips like you’re slowly blowing through a straw”. He speaks with authority, but it’s not dictatorial.

You scoff at him but obey, letting the air leave your lungs in the way he instructed. It does feel calming, physically it’s helping your breathing to settle, and the act of focusing your mind on it also seems to have a soothing effect. You do it a few more times.

“Now��name three things you can see,” he says, his tone authoritative.

“Huh…?”

“Just tell me three things you can see…it will help. Trust me.”

You blink, unsure whether to trust him but not really having many other options. “Uh…the busy bar. Lots of people around it.”

“Good. What else? Any colours”

“The…the bathroom door over there. It’s…red”. You motion with your hand to gesture towards it.

“Good. One more?”

“Your jacket, it’s blue. Bright blue”.

He grins, touching the fabric . “I know, gorgeous right? Made in the USA. Now two things you can hear. Go..”

“Um. Music. I think it’s AC/DC on the speakers in here.”

“It is. What else?”

“The main door, at the entrance. It makes a loud clunking noise when someone opens it”. You both look towards the door and sure enough, you hear the clang as it closes.

“Good. Alright, last one now and you’re done - one thing you can smell”.

A server wanders by holding a tray of food, placing it on the table behind you.

“Uh. Fries. I can smell fries. I kinda want some now…” You look over longingly at the bowl.

Lance chuckles and without hesitation dips his hand down and grabs a fry, ignoring the outraged ‘hey!’ from the owners. He simply does not give a fuck. You look at him in shock as he passes the fry to you, and you’re so mortified that you just take it. Mindlessly putting it in your mouth.

“One thing you can taste?” he smiles.

“Um. Fries,” you laugh awkwardly. “Lance…you can’t do stuff like that…” you hiss with embarassment.

But he just shrugs.

It hits you then. You feel…better? Although you’re still a little off, it feels like you’ve reset somehow. The room doesn’t feel as ‘close’ as it did a few minutes before. Lance had successfully walked you through it. You sheepishly glance over at him.

“Thank-you,” you say quietly.

He shrugs again, nonchalant with his hands in his pants pockets, “no biggie, you’re welcome”.

“You kinda coached me there…”

He grins boyishly and shrugs again, “well, yeah. It’s what I do.”

The two of you exchange a hesitant smile and then the bartender announces that the next round is about to start. You both head back to the table in silence.

Huh.

🥇

Trivia continues and Lance seems to have mellowed slightly. He’s still being a smartass, but less so at you. Which is somewhat more bearable. You’re still reeling from him helping you earlier, grateful but guarded – unsure of what his game might be. You never quite know where you stand with Lance, so anything does could mean something else entirely.

Aside from that, you both seem to have hit your stride in the trivia game – on a roll with the questions with a new sense of synchrony you were lacking before. You quickly reel off answers between you.

“The Godfather”.

…

“1865”.

…

“Burkina Faso”.

…

“Jesse! Oh man what’s his last name…Jesse…Oswald?”

“Jess Owens, cupcake.”

“Oh, right…right”.

…

The others observe you both with an air of confusion, but don’t dare question whatever strange system appears to be generating this new-found productivity.

The bartender reads out the answers one by one on the mic and your team are delighted that you appear to have scored quite highly. Each time you get one right the table exchanges a muted ‘yesss’ and an occasional fist pump.

“…and the answer to number 15, fibula. That’s F-I-B-U-L-A”.

“Don’t even…” you begin as you look up at Lance.

“I didn’t say anything…” he smirks, crossing his arms victoriously.

“You didn’t have to!” you laugh, flicking a beer mat at him. He deftly dodges it and you roll your eyes.

Kat watches the two of you, an unreadable expression on her face.

After the scores have been counted, you await with bated breath to be told that your table placed…

…second.

Narrowly missing out on first place by two measly points.

“I demand a recount!” scoffs Lance.

“Second place is still really great, way better than we usually do,” Matt responds with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Kat agrees, “you guys really pushed our score up. Didn’t see that coming,” she smiles warmly as she gestures at you and Lance. Others at the table nod and smile in agreement. “Thanks, you two. Weird trivia dream team over here”.

You feel a sudden wave of embarrassment crash through you, you hope they don’t somehow think you’re sleeping with him again. You know Kat isn’t implying anything, she doesn’t mean any harm, and you were a good team tonight…but you don’t want your friends thinking you’re some pushover who allows herself to be treated poorly and then all is forgotten. As if you’re just grateful for the attention, lapping it up like a stray dog who gets offered a treat. You find yourself subconsciously moving away from him in your seat, in case you’re too close.

“Yeah, we totally carried you guys,” Lance exclaims cockily, “alright. Silver isn’t quite as good as what I’m used to, but I’ll take it. Great work, Cupcake. Even if you do need to brush up on your anatomy knowledge”. He nudges you with his elbow, grinning.

“Whatever,” you reply dismissively as you take a sip from your glass, hoping to dispel any incorrect ideas that your friends may hold about the situation.

His brow twitches slightly in response but he quickly moves on, continuing to rag on Matt and some of the others as he boasts about his victory, at one point threatening to get his tattoo out.

You feel quite tired now, the few drinks you’ve had making you sluggish. The strange panic attack you had earlier must’ve spiked your adrenaline because now it feels like you’re crashing. Your eyelids feel heavy, your bed calls to you like a siren song. You keep thinking about how Lance managed to calm you down earlier. How did he do that?

You stay a little longer to chat – it’s nice to be with your friends and catch-up, and you don’t want to appear rude. After some time passes you feel like you’ve finally run out of road as your eyes get heavier, so you open your Uber app and arrange a ride home. You smile at the screen as you see a message from Chris.

Hope yourehaving fun. Cabt wait to see you again.

You chuckle at the typos, maybe he’s having a bit too much fun at the bar. You’ll reply when you get in your Uber, which thankfully is coming in a few minutes, so you get up and put your jacket on, signalling that you’re heading out.

“You leaving?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat,” you smile.

Kat lets out a wail of protest but it’s in jest, she wouldn’t ever try to guilt you into staying out later. She knows when your social battery is out and needs a charge, unlike hers which seems to be at full capacity at all times. Somehow.

“Thanks for kicking ass tonight,” she chirps as she moves to hug you, “we couldn’t have done it without you”.

“Happy to serve,” you tell her with a giggle as you return the hug.

“See you, Matt”.

“Later!”

You bid farewell to the others at the table as Lance watches you pensively. He suddenly gets to his feet and moves towards you.

“I’ll walk you out”.

“Oh, that’s okay you don-”

But he’s already walking towards the door. Fine. Whatever. You give the group a final wave as you begrudgingly follow him to the exit.

“We made a good team tonight, Cupcake,” he hums as he drops back in step with you.

“Mm,” you respond noncommittally. But he’s right, you did.

“What? That smart mouth of yours finally run outta steam?”

“I’m tired, Lance,” you scoff as you glance lazily down at your phone. The car should be here any moment.

He opens the door for you and you walk through, peering out into the street to see if you can make out the Uber in the darkness. An uncomfortable silence sits thickly as you both stand outside. But you’re not going to make it any easier for him.

“Look,” he sighs as he scratches the back of his neck, “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time earlier…”

You turn to him, surprised, that was the last thing you expected him to say.

“…believe it or not,” he continues, “I’m not just trying to give you shit. It’s actually really fun…being here with you…doing this. I forgot how much-how fun it is...hanging out with you. I know I get carried away. I just like it…a lot. So…thanks, for letting me being here. I get that it’s your turf, and I appreciate it”.

You blink at him, watching him stumble over his words and feeling not quite able to process what he’s saying. It’s always disarming on the rare occasions he’s not all swagger and confidence.

He wasn’t just trying to torture you?

He actually enjoyed it?

Is he just…trying to hang out with you?!

What?

You blanch, unsure of how to respond.

“Lance…look. It was kinda fun, weirdly…and I am honestly grateful for you helping me with my panic attack earlier…but I dunno, this is still…it’s still raw for me. You…you hurt me. You made me out to be someone I wasn’t…

He sighs, gritting his teeth, “I know. I fucked up. And I’m sorry. And I know my apology doesn’t mean much…but I do mean it. Really. I swear I haven’t got some ulterior motive. I just…I just like being with you. Even if it’s just playing trivia. I’d like…for us to be friends. Maybe it’s too soon right now, but one day”.

You’re stunned, this was the most open he’d ever been with you – all of the times you’d been in each other’s beds, sharing showers, you’d fantasised about him opening up to you – and here it was happening on the street, outside of a bar, as you waited for a taxi. Part of you wants to ask him more about why he said those things on that night – but you’re not quite sure you could handle picking at that wound.

“Maybe. I guess we’ll see,” you responded dully. “I mean, it would be easier as we’re going to cross paths here and there with our friends tangled up like they are. But…let’s just see how we go”.

Although you’re happy with Chris, you still feel some of the wounds from what Lance did. He can’t magically erase that and be all buddy-buddy with you like it’s nothing. It would be nice to be friends with him, sure, and easier for nights like this – but it wasn’t that simple.

But he seems happy enough that you didn’t say no, offering a big grin and a fist pump. You scoff good-naturedly at him.

“Hey,” you ask, unable to mask your curiosity as the thought had plagued you all night, “how did you know how to do that stuff with the breathing and the questions…with the panic attack, I mean?”

You expect another little jibe but are surprised when he replies earnestly.

“It happens to some of the kids I coach sometimes,” he says casually, “they get themselves worked up worrying about a movement they can’t quite master, or a competition they’re anxious about…so I looked into how I could help. Did a class on it. Gotten pretty good at spotting the warning signs now. Could see yours a mile off, you looked like a deer in headlights”.

You nodded, slightly embarrassed at being exposed so easily, but quietly impressed that he took his job so seriously. “Well, thanks”.

“It’s cool,” he smiles.

A car pulls up to the kerb and the driver leans out of the window, calling your name to confirm if you’re his pick-up.

“That’s me!” you chime back as you walk to the car. Lance opens the back door and you thank him as you sidle in.

“See ya, Cupcake. Nice hanging out with you,”.

“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t the worst night of my life…” you shoot back.

He chuckles at your joke and leans down just before he closes the door. “Oh, and I’m glad it’s going well with that Chris guy. Really”.

You freeze, waiting for the inevitable punchline, but it doesn’t come.

“Just make sure he’s good to you,” he says solemnly as the door slams. Your eyebrows knit in surprise as you absorb what he just told you.

The driver pulls away, and you watch Lance get smaller in the rearview mirror.

🥇

[teenagefeeling]

finally got a car i have a car yayyyyyy!!!!!!!!

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[presidentsdaughter]

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. for miss @pupwashing please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch. 

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

[wonsiwon]

party’s over, pack your stuff | l.hs

sinopsis | when heeseung returns from a party, he’s met with the shocking sight of his furious girlfriend tossing his belongings out the window and locking him out of the house. caught in the middle of a heated argument, the two find themselves pushing each other’s buttons, testing patience and limits as frustration and love clash in a chaotic standoff.

genre | stablished relationships?, fluff, angst, comedy

paring | bf! heeseung x fem!reader

you and heeseung had been together for two years, and while there were plenty of good moments, the bad ones seemed to creep in more often lately. the fights were becoming a regular thing, especially on the afternoons after he came back from parties. he’d spend hours at a friend’s place, leaving you at home, overthinking and imagining the worst. he’d stopped inviting you to these big gatherings, and it was hard not to wonder if he was cheating. the thought of him with someone else, while you were lying awake trying to convince yourself it wasn’t true, was eating you alive.

then today, everything you feared felt real. you got pictures of him at a party, grinning at some blonde girl—the same grin that used to be just for you.

heeseung didn’t see himself as a cheater. in his mind, he was just being “nice,” brushing off the attention he got because of his looks. but that smile, the one he flashed at other girls, made you want to punch him in the face.

it was around 3:20 in the afternoon when heeseung pulled into the driveway, still half-drunk and barely focused on the road. all he could think about was crashing into bed—probably not with you since he already expected a fight. not that it mattered to him; you’d forgive him eventually. or so he thought.

he didn’t even get the chance to park properly when he spotted you through the window. without thinking, he jumped out of the car, his eyes scanning the scene. clothes were scattered all over the grass, and then, just as he stepped closer, a pair of jeans flew out the window, landing in a messy heap.

“what are you doing?” heeseung asked, his eyes flicking between the clothes scattered on the ground and your furious figure at the window. “are those my clothes?”

you didn’t bother answering. instead, you grabbed a shoe and hurled it at him, hitting him square in the head.

“baby, what the hell?” heeseung muttered, trying to dodge the rain of items falling from the window. he knelt down, quickly stuffing clothes into his arms, but it felt like no matter how much he picked up, more kept falling.

“grab your stuff and get out of here.” you said, and tossed a pair of jeans at him.

heeseung caught them mid-air and looked down. “are those my favorites?” he asked, still not fully understanding what was happening.

he then glanced around, noticing people from the neighborhood walking by and stopping to watch. he could feel the eyes on him, making the situation even more awkward.

heeseung was completely thrown off guard. he didn’t understand what was happening. it didn’t make sense to him.

“can you just—” he started, but the words got stuck. “what’s going on?” he looked up at you again, trying to find some clue in your expression, but you just stood there, arms crossed, staring at him coldly.

heeseung sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair as he stood there, surrounded by his stuff scattered all over the grass. his headache was getting worse, and your angry expression through the window wasn’t making it any better.

“y/n, can we just talk like adults?” he pleaded, trying to calm the situation down.

“adults?” you snapped, leaning out the window with a glare. “were you acting like an adult when you were grinning at that blonde all night?”

heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. his mind went back to the party last night, and after a few seconds, his eyes widened as it hit him what this was all about. “you’ve got it all wrong—”

“wrong?!” you interrupted, your voice trembling with anger. “what part of you smirking at her, leaning in all close, and god knows what else am i getting wrong?!”

“she was just talking to me! i wasn’t doing anything!” heeseung argued, waving his hands in a dismissive gesture. “you always overthink this stuff. it’s exhausting!”

“oh, i’m exhausting?!” you yelled, throwing a sweatshirt at him with force. “you know what’s exhausting, heeseung? sitting here, while the guy i’ve been with for two years goes around dipping his dick in any female that flashes him a smile!”

heeseung’s eyes widened, and he snapped back, his voice rising. “are you serious right now? i wasn’t fucking anyone, y/n! she was just talking to me! you’re blowing this way out of proportion!”

“talking?” you laughed bitterly, leaning further out the window. “heeseung, do you even hear yourself? do you think i’m stupid? you didn’t even bother inviting me to the party!”

heeseung threw his hands up in frustration. “y/n, it’s not what you think! i didn’t invite you because i knew you hate those parties!”

you clenched your fists at your sides, voice shaking with anger. “was it good, huh? was it good fucking that bitch while you had your actual girlfriend at home?”

heeseung’s eyes widened, completely caught off guard. “what the hell are you talking about?” he shot back, gripping the sneakers you threw at him. “i didn’t sleep with anyone!”

“stop lying!” you spat, leaning even further out the window, your anger boiling over.

“y/n..” he started, his voice getting more desperate. “you’re seriously out of your mind right now. i wasn’t doing anything! i didn’t touch her, i didn’t—”

“save it!” you interrupted, gripping the window frame to steady yourself.

heeseung dropped the pile of clothes back onto the grass and started walking toward the door, his face set with determination.

“don’t bother.” you said, a hint of satisfaction in your voice while holding up a shiny new set of keys. “i changed the handle.”

heeseung stopped in his tracks, looking at you, completely shocked. “why the fuck would you do that?” his eyes narrowing as he looked at the keys in your hand. his mind was still reeling from the argument, but now he was thrown off even more by what you just said.

you just smirked as you held up the keys. “you really thought you could just walk in here and keep doing whatever you want?”

heeseung’s jaw clenched, and he dragged his tongue across his cheek, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. both hands rested on his hips as he glared at you. “so, this is how it’s gonna be now? you’re locking me out like some stranger?” he was furious—this whole situation felt ridiculous to him. “you really think a locked door is gonna stop me?”

you rolled your eyes, leaning against the frame. “what are you gonna do, heeseung? break a window? crawl through the vents?”

he chuckled darkly. “did you change the back door too?”

your face went pale. you hadn’t. and even though you could’ve lied, you knew he wouldn’t buy it—your hesitation was clear. you watched his eyes flick to the side of the house, and then it clicked. before you could react, heeseung was already walking toward the edge of the house, that knowing smirk spreading across his face.

“gotcha.”

panic set in, and you pushed off the window frame, clutching the keys tightly in your hand. “this motherfucker..” you muttered under your breath.

heeseung took off running toward the backyard, vaulting over the fence with ease. panicking, you bolted down the stairs, nearly tripping as you tried to beat him to the door.

you hated yourself for how dumb you’d been, but even more, you hated the fact that heeseung was actually pretty smart. too smart. and the worst part? he wasn’t wrong. as much as you wanted to blame him for being insufferable, you couldn’t deny it was your own slip-up that handed him the upper hand. again.

you cursed under your breath, skidding to a halt in front of the door just in time to see heeseung standing in the frame, his tall figure all over you. his smirk was insufferable as he leaned against the door, looking down at you with a cocky expression.

you gasped, turning on your heels and sprinting back toward the stairs. “i hate you!” you shouted as heeseung darted after you, his long strides closing the distance quickly.

“i know you don’t, princess!” he called out, laughing as he chased you up the stairs.

your heart raced as you reached the top, your mind scrambling for a plan. heeseung wasn’t about to let this go, and you weren’t ready to give in just yet. you slammed the door of the bedroom, hoping to lock it before heeseung reached you. but just as it was about to close, his foot wedged itself in the gap.

“leave me alone!” you yelled, your voice desperate as you pushed against the door with all your strength.

“not a chance.” heeseung growled, using his weight to push it open.

the door flew back, forcing you to stumble a few steps away. before you could react, heeseung grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not painful.

“let me go!” you shouted, twisting and squirming in his hold, trying to free yourself.

“stop it, y/n!” he barked, his voice low and steady, though his breathing was heavy from the chase. “you’re acting like a kid.” heeseung’s grip tightened for a second, but he didn’t pull you back. his gaze softened just a little, and his voice dropped. “baby, stop. i’m just trying to talk.”

but you weren’t ready to listen. you were too angry. “i don’t care what you’re trying to do.” you snapped, pushing against his chest. “you don’t get to act like nothing’s wrong when you’re out there doing god knows what with other girls.”

heeseung couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, the tension in his body easing slightly. “i didn’t do anything, baby. it was just a stupid conversation—nothing more.”

“bullshit!” you yelled, shoving against him harder, but all it did was make him chuckle. “why are you laughing? you think this is funny?”

“i’m not..” he said, his smile only growing wider. “it’s just funny how you get like this, all grumpy.” he reached out and pinched your nose, a playful gesture that only made you more frustrated.

you swatted his hand away, glaring at him. “this isn’t funny, heeseung!” you snapped, your voice sharp with annoyance.

he raised his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “okay, okay. i get it. but you’re overreacting, baby.” his tone was teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness in his eyes. “i’m not doing anything wrong.”

“you always say that,” you shot back, your anger flaring again. “how am i supposed to believe you?”

“listen, i don’t know who sent you that picture, but i swear, princess, i wasn’t flirting with her.” he stepped closer, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “you can ask my friends.”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “i don’t trust your friends.”

he raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but firm. “you trust jungwon though. he was there.”

the mention of jungwon made you pause for a moment. jungwon was the calm one in the group, always reliable, and someone you could count on when it came to keeping things straight. but the one you should really keep an eye on was no one but jake. he was the king of stirring up trouble, and you couldn’t count the number of times he’d egged heeseung on to do something stupid.

your silence gave heeseung an opening. he softened his voice, stepping closer, but still keeping a little distance to test the waters. “look, i get it. i screwed up, and yeah, maybe i should’ve kept my distance from her. but you know me, baby. you know me. i don’t care about anyone else.”

you rolled your eyes, though your resolve was faltering slightly. “you’re always sweet-talking your way out of this stuff, heeseung. it doesn’t change the fact that you were grinning at her like she was the most interesting person in the world.”

“sweet-talking?” he repeated, a playful smirk creeping back onto his face. “baby, i don’t need to sweet-talk. i’m just telling you the truth.”

heeseung took another step forward, and this time you didn’t move back. he reached for your hands, holding them gently in his. his thumbs brushed against your knuckles in slow, soothing circles.

“i don’t want to fight with you anymore..” he said softly, his voice steady and earnest. “you’re the one i come home to. you’re the one i care about. that’s not going to change because of some random girl at a party.”

you crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “i’ll forgive you… only if you stop going to these stupid parties. and definitely not hang out when jake’s around.”

heeseung nodded quickly, a look of relief washing over his face. “i promise, no more parties like that. and no more hanging around jake if it’s going to make you this upset.”

you felt his hands gently grip your waist, but you didn’t pull away. instead, you looked him in the eyes, studying his expression. “i mean it, heeseung. i don’t care how much fun you think you’re having. if i ever catch you doing something like that again—”

“you won’t.” he cut in and gave you a reassuring squeeze. “no more parties, no more drama, just us.”

you let out a small sigh, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “good. that’s what i need to hear.”

you let him pull you into a hug, though you kept your arms at your sides, still not fully giving in. he pressed his chin against the top of your head, his voice soft as he muttered, “thank you, baby. i’m glad we’re on the same page now.”

you stayed there for a moment, both of you just breathing, when suddenly he froze, his expression shifting. “wait—” he said, looking toward the window. “the clothes.”

you followed his gaze, realizing he was just now remembering the mess outside. before you could say anything, he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “god, the neighbors must think we’re insane.”

you crossed your arms, smirking. “well, we kinda are.”

heeseung turned back to you with a playful pout. “can’t believe i almost lost my future wife and my home in one day.”

your cheeks burned at his words, but you refused to let him off that easy. “future wife?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “who said i’d marry you after this?”

he grinned, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you again. “you’ll forgive me.” he said confidently. “you love me too much.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “you better start picking up those clothes before i change my mind.”

heeseung groaned dramatically, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “can’t we just leave them there? maybe the wind will blow them away or something.”

you pushed him off with a light shove, crossing your arms. “nice try. i’m not going to be the one explaining to the neighbour why your underwear is hanging from her tree.”

heeseung winced at the thought, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine, fine. but you’re helping me. you threw them out, after all.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “oh no, this is all on you, mister. think of it as your punishment.”

he sighed, giving you a mock glare before turning toward the stairs. “you’re cruel, y/n. absolutely ruthless.”

“and don’t forget it.” you shot back, following him downstairs to the front yard.

the scene outside was somehow even more chaotic than you remembered. a couple of kids from down the street were pointing and giggling as they passed by, and neighbour from next door was giving heeseung a very disapproving look from his porch.

“great.” heeseung muttered under his breath, bending down to pick up a pair of socks. “i’m the neighborhood clown now.”

you couldn’t help but laugh as you watched him gather his clothes, his tall frame awkwardly hunched as he tried to scoop up as much as he could at once. “well, you kind of earned it.” you teased, leaning against the fence.

heeseung straightened up, his arms full of crumpled t-shirts and jeans. “yeah, yeah. laugh it up. just wait until i get back inside.”

you tilted your head, smirking. “oh? and what are you going to do? throw all your clothes back out?”

he flashed you a grin, the kind that made your stomach flip despite everything. “nah. i’ll just make you fold all of them.”

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile crept onto your face. “dream on, heeseung.”

he chuckled, shaking his head as he bent down to grab the last of his things. as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, moments like this reminded you why you’d stuck around for two years. heeseung was frustrating, infuriating even, but he was also the guy who could make you laugh when you least expected it.

as he stood up, arms overflowing with clothes, he looked over at you with a sheepish smile. “uh, a little help?”

you sighed, walking over to take some of the load off his hands. “you’re lucky i don’t actually hate you.”

heeseung’s grin widened as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “and i’m lucky you’re still here.”

[sailorsoons]

Hush (c.sc)

Pairing: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

Summary: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t seem to stop visiting promises he can help. 

Word Count: 6,239

Genre: Supernatural

Type: Smut, PWP

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and recurring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

A/N: This was originally requested for my Haliween writing event by @daechwitatamic on my old blog. Hopefully you all enjoy sleep demon Seungcheol just as much the second time!

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Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

TAG LIST:

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[luveline]

would you be able to do hotch’s adult daughter meeting the team?

—Hotch introduces his daughter to the team. 1.3k

“Aaron?” 

He’s grateful you didn’t call him Mr. Hotchner, but dad might not hurt. “Everything okay, honey?” he asks the phone. 

“Sure, um. This might be presumptuous and, like, embarrassing for me, but my last class got cancelled and I was wondering if I can come to your office today?” 

He feels his brows rise of their own accord. He checks his watch. You’ve picked a good day to want to come. “Sure, it’s quiet here.”

“You don’t want me to explain why?” 

“Presumptuous and embarrassing for me, I thought it might be to see your dear old dad.” 

You laugh funny on the other side, like Jack when he’s surprised. “Kind of. I do want to see you, but I was wondering what it’s like. In the FBI, I mean.” 

“You’re interested?” 

“In working there?” you ask. 

“It’s fine if you were, you don’t have to worry.” 

“It looks too intense for me, but… yeah, I guess I want to know what you do all day. I don’t know anything about that part of your life, and it’s such a big part of it.” 

He’s trying hard to say Yes to you at every opportunity, and this yes is easy. He sends a car to get you because he can, preparing himself for a lot of fawning and surprise. The BAU team, namely, Spencer, Derek, JJ, Emily, Dave, and Penelope, know who you are, but the office itself has little knowledge of you. There was chatter the day you turned up here unannounced. You haven’t been to the office since. 

He exits his office and finds Spencer, Emily, and Derek in the bullpen doing their paperwork, among other things. Derek’s peeling an orange. Spencer has his nose in a book despite a hand on the computer mouse. 

“Are you ready?” he asks them. 

“For what, the round table?” Emily asks. 

“Y/N’s coming into the office.” 

Three backs straighten in unison. “The kid?” Derek asks with a grin. He’s the only one who’s actually met you, and it drives the others mad with jealousy. 

“My kid, yes,” he says. He can’t help smiling. “She wants to see what we do. Please don’t show her anything with blood or gore, though. Please.” 

“Scout’s honour,” Emily says, standing from her desk to brush herself down. “Out of everything that’s happened when I started here, is it strange that this is the craziest?” 

“It’s up there,” Spencer says. 

“It’s certainly the nicest surprise I’ve had,” Aaron says, not quite missing the look Emily and Derek share even as he spots you at the office doors with your visitor’s pass clipped to the belt of your skirt. 

He walks to meet you, lest the sheer sea of faces intimidate you. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

You pull your jacket tighter around you, but it’s not a warm thing —if anything, it seems to be a stiff cardigan, grey and white plaid with ornate buttons. “It’s freezing out there.” 

“You’ll feel much warmer in a minute. The heat has been on high all day, JJ’s orders.” He slips his hand behind your back and shepherds you to the bullpen. “Honey, these are some of the members of my team. Supervisory special agents Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid.” 

“Emily,” Emily says, thrusting her hand forward to shake. 

“Spencer,” Spencer adds, managing to escape a handshake as Derek steps in. 

“Derek Morgan,” he introduces himself, shaking your hand with a warm smile. “I can see now why you were reluctant to tell me what you were here for.” 

Your smile goes sideways, like you’re startled, but pleased nonetheless, “I– honestly, I thought you’d make me leave if you heard what I had to say. It’s still not believable.”

“You sound like him,” Spencer says. “Not masculine, but–”

“Mellifluous,” you and Aaron say at the same time. 

“Exactly.” 

“Freaky,” Emily says, though her smile is brilliant. 

When Aaron sat the team down to tell them, it wasn’t because he necessarily wanted to. He loves you as any man loves their child even if he still has mountains to learn about you, and the urge to brag about you doesn’t go away, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to answer so many questions about you at the time. As far as anybody in Aaron’s life knows, he and Haley haven’t ever split, it was a private parting, and so the first thing he sensed from everyone was a shift in image. “I didn’t cheat on Haley,” he’d said quickly, with a suffering sigh, “we were broken up at the time.” 

“Like, on a break?” Emily had asked, cringing. 

No, not really. Aaron assumed he and Haley were broken up permanently when he slept with your mother, but that brief relationship cemented for him that he loved his now-wife. Now that the team know he’s not an adulterer, the only thing he has while presenting you to them is pride. 

“Y/N’s class was cancelled today, so I’m going to show her around the office and give her some insight into what we do here,” he says, catching your attention with a grin. “It’s not as though you need today's lecture, hm? She’s nearly the top of her class.” 

You shake your head at him, beaming but mortified, “Don’t.” 

“If she didn’t work so hard–”

“He’s trying to get me to quit my job,” you tell the others. “He’s overbearing.” 

“We know,” Emily says. 

“I just think that now is a time for studying, and you’ve worked hard enough already.” 

You shift marginally closer to him. Most people wouldn’t notice, but Aaron does, and he suspects his team do to. “I’m fine doing both,” you say. 

He’s sure he’ll win the argument one day. For now, he escorts you through the office to the round table, then his office, pulling you into Rossi’s office for a charming hello and then to JJ’s, where you’re greeted with excitement and a disarming amount of love. Aaron forgets sometimes how much he and his team have been through together. You really are a good surprise. 

“Where are we going now?” you ask, following Aaron down a long corridor. 

He smiles. “You don’t have a sensitivity to high-pitched noises, do you?” 

Your confusion is plain on your face. Aaron takes you to a familiar door, placard reading in big, black letters: PENELOPE GARCIA, BAU TOP TECH AND DATA ANALYST. It’s surrounded by pink heart shaped stickers. 

He knocks the ajar door politely. “Garcia?” he asks.

“Sir?” Penelope says back. 

He eases open the door with his foot. Penelope turns in her chair, blonde hair in windswept curls, her lips painted a pink-orange. 

“Garcia, this is Y/N, my daughter.” 

Penelope’s mouth falls open. “I know who she is,” she says, nearly monotonous. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say. “I’ve heard so much about you. I love your trinkets,” you add, nodding at her wild desk. 

Penelope gives Aaron a pleading look. He nods. 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Penelope says, rushing forward to throw her arms around you. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

You laugh and bow gently under her weight. “Me neither,” you say sincerely. 

“Oh my gosh. Oh my god,” she says, pulling away to smile at Aaron, “she sounds like you, you weren’t kidding! How is it possible that she sounds like you?” 

“Strong genetics?” he suggests. 

“I’ve never been this happy in my life,” Penelope says. 

He watches you take Penelope’s excited hand and thinks, that makes two of us. 

“You’re so adorable, I’m looking for Hotch in your face but you don’t look like him at all. But your clothes! You’re so cute, like a baby politician!” 

“I’m almost twenty three.” 

“So young,” Penelope fawns. 

[ceesimz]

don't smile

you just can't get over each other. (angst -> happy ending)

Seeing you in somebody else’s arms was never part of the plan Alexia set out for herself. 

A drink in her hand and a stranger in yours. At an event for the club of her life that was nothing when you were in the same room as her, breathing the same air, but you had an arm around your waist that wasn’t Alexia’s.

An hour before that, when you first walked in, she could have thrown up, or fallen to her knees and wailed like a child, or thrown a tantrum like a toddler. Because you walked into her place of work with her team, your only goal in mind being to make her jealous in front of her mother and sister, her colleagues, her colleagues’ family and friends, and just about anyone else around. 

Patri had invited you, apparently, which made sense. You had met through her, a fleeting moment Alexia once called fate. Now, as she watched you laugh, smile, joke, drape yourself over another woman, the captain thought of it as nothing but the beginning of the end for her. Her life hadn’t been the same since the two of you split. 

Waking up in the morning hadn’t felt the same now that her bed was empty and cold without. The start of her day used to be her favourite part. Waking to a warm bed with your sleeping form beside her, goosebumps always rising on her skin when you buried her face in the crook of her neck and breathed in as the scent of vanilla from her lingering perfume and the lavender of the bed sheets invaded your senses, it was just unmatched. She couldn’t describe the motivation it gave her. Instead, the only thing that greeted her at the crack of dawn was the sole, deafening sound of her alarm. It made it inexplicably harder to want to get on with the agenda for her day. 

Cooking breakfast wasn’t the same when you weren’t there to will her on with light kisses along her neckline. Doing her skincare in the bathroom wasn’t anywhere near as fun when you weren’t emphatically serenading her from the shower. Going to training didn’t feel quite so fulfilling when you weren’t waiting to welcome her with open arms once she returned home. Lining up in the tunnel of whatever stadium she was playing in that day wasn’t the same when you weren’t in the stands for her.

Yet you sauntered in as if none of that ever happened, flaunting the evidence of your success at seamlessly moving on with a grin on your face Alexia hadn’t seen before. She didn’t realise the reason for that was because it wasn’t genuine, like all the other ones you’d flashed at her in the past. That thought wasn’t even a concept in her world, the only thing she could focus on was the resentment towards you that consumed her. 

Months ago, the two of you made your way to your favourite restaurant, walking along the street with your arms linked together as you exchanged soft glances and loud laughter. Only an hour later did you walk out together, stuck in a screaming contest of whose words could do the most damage, before Alexia spotted someone with their phone out and walked away. You were left there, alone, with only the vicious words from the woman you thought you’d spent the rest of your life with as the only thing that remained of her. There was radio silence after that and it had stayed that way since. 

You blamed her and she blamed you, even if it was a combination of you both at fault and neither of you the root cause of it. Despite that, not a word was exchanged about the fight, the pair of you too stubborn and head-strong in the worst way to be able to look each other in the eyes again after all the insults tossed back and forth. 

The thing is… Alexia had just begun to accept the fact she regretted that day at the restaurant and everything to do with it when this happened. For weeks, she’d spent her nights with only the company of the light from her phone screen, opened on your contact. Her mind cried out for her to press the call button, but her heart and its fear of getting hurt again won, and she never found it within herself to do it. Had you shown up to the Barça event on your own, the blonde would have rushed over to you the second she saw you, her tail between her legs as she begged for your forgiveness.

But then you brought a plus-one, and Alexia had never been more happy with herself over a decision than she had about not calling you.

The new girl on your arm was merely an unassuming passenger you’d brought along on this tumultuous joyride. You didn’t like her that much, she was no blonde athlete, no love of your life, and it didn’t help that you couldn’t exactly remember her name without having to take a moment to think about it, but she knew her role and she played it well. It’d only taken three shots together at a bar the previous night to convince her. Then, all you had to do was slap a confident smile on your face and enter the room the club had hired and brush off the, at least, forty pairs of eyes on you like they were nothing. 

Except your smile faltered when you stepped inside, and everybody saw it. Everyone apart from the one person that mattered. It was too late to not go with the plan, however, so you did just that. In your defence, you believed you had no choice. But of course you did. There wasn’t a gun to your head, no one knew, not even Patri, that you were bringing anyone. The downfall was all your own doing.

Every laugh, every smile, every joke, every arm wrapped around her waist and every sly whisper in your date’s ear was purposeful, planned. You didn’t even have to look to know Alexia’s eyes were on you– they never left. And your desperation for her attention never left either, though you wouldn’t call it desperation, you called it… revenge. A pathetic attempt, however. And it was rather desperate.

The whole thing bordered on toxic, it was unhealthy, yet… it could only be the behaviour of two people that loved each other too much to let go for good. Neither of you were ready to accept that fact anytime soon, however. That you were still in love, and always would be.

Alexia hadn’t brought anyone with her apart from her mother and sister because, in the time she’d had you and lost you, not once did she even glance at anyone else. What was the point? When you lose the one person you married in your dreams as you slept beside them, everything else fades out of focus so that you can concentrate on breathing and blinking each day. Just the thought of having someone take your place made her feel sick. But she didn’t care to delve into why she felt that way. She just assumed she was still achingly angry at you. 

You didn’t give a second thought to the sickening pit in your stomach, assuming it was the vitriol that still coursed through your veins, and that putting on the performance you were then was simply fuelling it. It wasn’t guilt, it just couldn’t be. It wouldn’t make sense. 

To Alba, it was a performance that was totally transparent, especially after she saw the glimpse of intimidation at your masterplan when you arrived. And with the way her sister was clutching her glass, if she held it any tighter, she feared it might have just smashed into pieces in her hand. The brunette had been seated front row to the sympathy party Alexia had been putting on these last months; it took a thousand times of asking for the midfielder to show any kind of emotion towards everyone left in her life. Two days before the Barça event, Alba had to lay into her, to at least try to pull her head out her ass and remember that she still had people around who actually loved her.

The blonde didn't care about a soul anymore, and that fact became obviously clear when Eli tried to pull her daughter into a conversation with someone else's mother, only to receive some kind of grunt or grumble in response. Eli rolled her eyes and politely excused herself from the conversation, grabbing Alexia's hand afterwards and scolding her quietly. Alexia hardly caught a word she said. Not when it was the exact moment you chose to shoot a sly, triumphant smirk in her direction, which elicited a disapproving, down-right angry, and bordering on possessive scowl to her brow and frown to her mouth.

That only spurred you on; then you grabbed your date’s hand and, with a look in your eye Alexia had been on the receiving end of many memorable times, you headed to the bathroom. Like you were at some club, drunk on a night-out with no inhibitions, and not at Alexia’s place of work. 

A huff left her mouth and she slammed her glass down on the nearest table with the intention to follow you in and fire some colourful words your way, but Alba stopped her. The younger Putellas knew exactly what Alexia was going to do, and she’d be damned if she let her embarrass herself here of all places. She was thinking with her heart once again, not her head, and she didn’t have the best track record of doing so. The state of your relationship together was enough proof.

“Get off me, Alba. Now is not the- where are we going?!” She exclaimed in a hushed tone, trying (but failing) to not draw attention to them. Next thing she knew, she was in the smoking area outside the function room that’d been hired, her mother and sister both fixing her with warningful stares. “What is wrong with you both?”

“You need to leave her alone, Ale. Don’t cause a scene at work.” Alba said calmly, hands on her hips and hardly flinching at the outburst Alexia had afterwards.

“Me? Have you seen her?! What she is doing? She is causing a scene at my work and I am supposed to sit there and watch her?!” Her hands gestured wildly and uncontrollably, so much so that both women in front of her took a few steps backwards. She kicked at a non-existent stone under her foot on the cobbled ground and cursed under breath, mumbling a few choice words that had her mother lightly hitting her on the back of the head.

“You do not call another woman that! On my deathbed you ever say that word again, Alexia.” Eli had that same dagger glare to her eyes that worked on Alexia when she was a child. Even as a woman in her thirties, it still evoked fear in her, and her fury took a backseat after that as she apologised quietly. “What she does is not your business anymore. You need to let her go.” 

“Let her go.” Alexia repeated with a pitiful laugh, slumping back against the wall and putting her hands on her knees. 

She knew she had to let you go, and she was trying, why didn’t anyone see that? No matter what she did or how much time passed by, you were still the only person she thought about. You never left her mind, even if it did make her want to smash her head against the mirror she looked into every morning where she’d only see a reflection of herself when it should be you next to her. 

Nobody saw it because it wasn’t the reality. She loved you as much as she did the first day she saw you. Things were just more complicated now, because suddenly your futures were at stake. One future together that was happy, or two lifetimes of chasing an ounce of the devotion you felt when you were with each other. There was a mountain to climb or there was the coward’s way out.

“I need to let her go.” She said again, this time with more determination. She stood up straight, shook off the frustration she felt, and nodded at them both. “I will.”

Then, she headed straight back inside. But Eli and Alba shared a knowing look. Alexia wore her heart on her sleeve, she always had done. The two knew Alexia better than anyone, yet even they hadn’t seen her like this before, and that only meant one thing. Eli rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh, meanwhile Alba wanted nothing more than to smash your heads together.

—

You don’t know why you did it. How you thought it could ever possibly be a good idea was a mystery to you as you sat in the back of a taxi in awkward silence with your date whose number you would delete the second she stepped out of the car. 

Nevermind Alexia, you’d made a fool of yourself with such a fake, pathetic attempt at showing how seamlessly you had moved on. It was completely forced and you were almost certain that everyone in the room could see that. 

The minute you walked in earlier, adrenaline and the need for revenge took over. You acted on autopilot, the devil on your shoulder decided what to do and didn’t care to run it past you before it happened. Honestly, the whole night was mostly a blur. All you could remember was the expression Alexia wore and the cocktail of emotions you could see in her eyes from across the room. 

Her anger didn’t hurt, her judgement didn’t hurt, it was the disappointment so clear on her face that hurt. Like you’d stooped lower than she ever thought you would, which you knew was exactly what you’d done. But the second you saw Alexia leave, she shot one last look your way, which seemed… dejected, with a hint of longing in her eyes. So, perhaps seeing you with someone else had done exactly what you wanted, but you didn’t get the satisfaction you thought you would. No, as you drove in silence in the taxi back to your empty apartment with walls that had stories to tell of the two of you, you knew what you felt then was guilt in all its entirety. Guilt and regret.

Guilt, which you’d so vehemently denied earlier, yet were drowning in it when all was said and done. So when the tears that built in your eyes as you thanked the taxi driver and got out of the car finally fell, you didn’t wipe them away. You had no business doing that when they were the consequence of your own actions. 

Crying wouldn’t rewind time so you could take back such a stupid and naive decision. Crying wouldn’t make you feel any better at the behaviour the people you valued as your own witnessed and no doubt judged you heavily for. Crying wouldn’t get Alexia back. 

But you didn’t want her back, so you quickly wiped your face with the sleeve of your coat when you walked into your apartment building. Your neighbour from a few doors down was there, waiting for the elevator, and the look of pity he gave at the sight of you was enough to have you turning on the spot and walking right out again. 

It contradicted your last thought entirely, about not wanting her back. But you didn’t care, because you could not stand the idea of going home to an all too quiet and empty apartment. That didn’t mean you wanted her back though. She’d said some borderlin- she’d said some really unforgivable stuff in the restaurant. Even if you had kind of forgotten some of the things she spat at you, you knew she had and she’d meant it. 

You wanted a drink. Needed one, actually. So your destination choice was the local supermarket, which was a couple minutes away. As you headed towards it, the cool air of the evening dried your tears, leaving tracks that still glimmered under the streetlights, the warm white reflecting the shame that burned inside you for everyone that passed by to see. It was a vulnerable moment, but you did it to yourself, so it didn’t matter. You wandered the streets in the dark, alone, just like you did after that time at the restaurant. 

God, you would have done anything to know what Alexia was thinking earlier. You knew she was angry, that could have been clear even to Stevie Wonder, but there was something different, deeper, under the surface that you caught a glimpse of and it lingered in your mind. You had to stop thinking about her. 

That was an impossible task when she was in everything you saw. The alleyways you snuck off into on date nights, the cafes you ate breakfast in the mornings after whilst sat across the table from each other with bashful smiles and flushed cheeks, benches you would sit on together as you watched the world go by in front of you. All these sentimental places you walked by, where nothing had changed for them, meanwhile everything had changed for you. 

Things had changed between you both since, yet at the same time, nothing had changed at all.

The supermarket you went to, it was the same one the two of you would walk around together, picking and choosing what ingredients you would use for the next dish you cooked. You should have realised what shop you were going to end up at, but clearly critical thinking wasn’t your best skill at that time. 

You roamed the aisles, a basket on your arm, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart that was in tune with the continuous cycle of your mind. It told the same story you had shunned for some time, you were determined not to let it get to you that night. But just like your walk here, the shop showed no sign of anything that had ended, and it gave no instruction on how to forget that it had. 

You picked your poison and put it in the basket. Then you got another bottle of the same drink, so there was one to have on the way home and one to keep you company on the sofa. 

All was going well until you began to make your way to the exit. The aisle you chose to walk down to get to the tills was probably the worst one you could. The most unsuspecting, but undeniably the worst. Just as your mind finally let you think about something else, you spotted something on the bottom shelf that shattered the facade you had worked so hard to build.

Lavender laundry detergent. Unassuming? Yes. But in no time at all, it no longer was just a bottle of detergent. And it was fucking stupid. 

Suddenly, it was late Sunday evenings when Alexia would force you out of bed so that she could put on fresh sheets, adamant it was the perfect reset for a new week. Suddenly, it was the way she would pick you up and lay you down on the bed afterwards, giving an apology in the form of soft, gentle, slow, unrushed kisses because nights together felt timeless. Suddenly it was the feeling of her clothes against your skin, of tangled limbs in the early hours of the morning, of home. 

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. 

The breakup, the ambush at the club’s gathering, the weeks without each other, the tears that fell again. 

Your stomach twisted at the thought that hit you soon after. It should have been obvious, long ago. But so much time had passed, so much animosity, it initially seemed irreparable. How could she forgive you? And when had you forgiven her?

“Disculpe? Está bien?” 

No, you weren’t. Coming face to face with a decision you had detested for months wasn’t something you could just sit back and watch.

It was a decision you had to actively take.

—

“Alexia?” 

She put her foot through the ball just as you spoke, sending it flying over the crossbar. 

“Alba told me you would be here.” 

Alba? 

Ignoring you, she collected another ball and meticulously set it up outside of the box. 

“Please.” 

She geared up to take the free-kick, and this time, the net rippled and the sound echoed off of the houses around as it nestled in the top corner. The football pitch near her childhood home was often a place she went to when she needed time on her own. And God did she have a lot of it lately. 

Alexia gave as much as she was willing to; she turned her body to face you, hands on her hips, though she kept her eyes averted. It was an offer, not an invite.

“I… I came here with so much to say but now I don’t know where to start.”

The captain had mastered the act of coming across as stoic and unbothered. There, in front of you, she seemed emotionless and totally unbothered by your sudden appearance. The sharp sting of a lump in her throat told a different story. 

She had spent so long convincing herself this moment would never come, that you had given up on the idea entirely, which she knew was selfish to put this whole thing on your shoulders, but still. Then there you were, in front of her, looking at her like she was still something that mattered. 

Her shoulders tried to slump but she stood up straighter, her expression and her body language steady and unwavering in its coldness. Her jaw was tensed, her fingers curled into fists, eyes unblinking, almost like she was trying to bring on the anger she was supposed to feel. But the tears welled anyway, traitorously burning behind her eyes, and she had to blink them back before they betrayed her. 

“I need you, Alexia. And I don’t know why I’ve spent the past months telling myself I don’t.” 

You bared your soul in the hopes she did the same thing in return. 

In the last few weeks that led to this moment, Alexia thought the nights she spent wishing for this very scene to play out would have prepared her for hearing those words. It hadn’t worked, and the love she felt for you came rushing back, weaving in between the cracks she’d tried so hard to seal. It was a miracle she didn’t fall to your feet there and then. 

A part of her wanted to scoff and tell you it was too late. Those weren’t her true feelings. The way her nails dug into the palms of her hands and how the half of her heart she had left battered against her chest as it tried to escape, tried to make its way to you again, they shone a light on the truth that had long taken hold of her. She hated how easily she folded at the sound of your voice and the honesty within it, but you can’t hate who you don’t love.

Regardless, she swallowed hard, the lump not budging an inch, and she forced her face to stay blank as she replied.

“You don’t get to say that.” 

Her voice was steadier than she felt, but even as the words left her tongue, her resolve wavered slightly. 

“I know, but I am saying it.” You took a step closer. On that occasion, she met your gaze. “I’ve been a horrible person, and what I did yesterday, it… I don’t know why I did it. I don’t have any excuses or reasons why. I’m just sorry. I’m so… so sorry.”

Still, she didn’t say a word. You didn’t blame her. Begging for her forgiveness with your tail between your legs wasn’t a pretty sight. 

“I forgive you for what happened at the restaurant and I did a long time ago. I can’t do this life thing without you, I don’t know how I did it before you but I definitely can’t do it after without you. I love you. It’s only you.”

Words spilled out of you in a frantic manner as you filled the silence she left. Alexia stood rooted to the spot, absorbing every single syllable that you uttered. She saw the way your hands fidgeted and how you’d look her in the eye before glancing away, intimidated by her lack of reaction. It was like you were searching both her and the environment around for anything to tell you where you stood with her. Truthfully, the midfielder wasn’t sure.

Relief swarmed her chest so wholly it almost hurt, though her mind was still catching up. She wanted to tell you she heard you, that she forgave you, that she loved you, but… she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. So she let you stumble through apologises and half-finished confessions whilst she tried to remember how to breathe again. 

“Please. I n-need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything. I… I don’t know what else to say.” 

When so much time passed between you showing up and her giving away not a hint at how she felt, you began to feel embarrassed. Humiliated. Ashamed that you could drive away the one person you believed genuinely loved you.

You didn’t know what else to say, but you weren’t about to see her walk away from you again like last time. It hurt too much. If she didn’t want you in her life, then you would make the decision for her. You did have some common decency.

It’s just, when you turned and took your first step away from her, you couldn’t exactly take your second when a familiar hand grabbed your wrist and spun you back around. Though, she hesitated in her next plan of action, and it gave you a chance to see the stream coming from her eyes. Before you got the chance to apologise or run away or cry tears of your own, you were engulfed in an embrace. An embrace that was steady, strong, secure, like the ones you had gotten used to before everything went wrong.

“I’m still mad at you for what you did.” 

She sobbed into your neck as she spoke, her shoulders shaking with her cries, and somehow it was the most cathartic moment of your life. 

“I know.” 

—

happy ending... question mark? 😇 reverie national team fic is actively being worked on! this is just something i got the idea for the other day and it stuck in my mind since, though it looks nothing like i thought it would (i hate it sm) best believe im putting alllll my time and love and care and effort into the reverie nt fic!

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 2

It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.

“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.

The van swerves a bit to the left.

“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”

He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.

Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.

“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”

His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.

Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.

Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.

Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.

He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.

Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.

Getting it.

Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.

They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.

“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“

Stevie. His breath stutters.

“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”

“Stop. Just, just stop!”

Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.

“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“

What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.

“Hey, Stevie—“

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”

A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”

“I, You’re not making any sense!”

Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.

Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?

Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.

Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—

He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,

They’re pushing him. Away.

“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can’t—I just can’t.

And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”

And Steve?

Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.

“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”

Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.

There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.

Part one < 💛 > Part 3

Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath

[xhunnybeeex]

kinktober post 1

Make Me God

TW// : NSFW content, religious themes, female anatomy, piv, oral (reader receiving), virgin reader, slight corruption kink, Priest! Anakin, pantie stealing, 

Anakin is sitting in his usual spot in the pews as you go to look for him. He holds his new vestments in his hands, gazing at them attentively. 

“They fit okay, Father?” you ask, sitting next to your friend. 

Anakin hesitates before answering, him becoming a priest slipping his mind. It was only a couple days since the young man had become a head figure at your guy’s church. Anakin had met you when you were young, 10 and 14. The both of you never went to the same school, for he was older and went to a private catholic school while you attended public classes. That never stopped the two of you from seeing each other at youth groups, church, and going out. Your parents liked the faithful, obedient man he has become as the two of you fell into your 20s. 

He blinks out of his trance and looks over to you. “Oh hey, sorry, this is all just so new still. It feels like a dream.” he chuckles, laying the folded cloth in his lap. 

“Its all official now!” you smile, excited for him. Your faith was everything to you, and he was wired the same way. Every action, every word, every thought, all to serve your savior. 

“It feels so different,” he admits. “ but in a way it’s like nothing has changed.” he plays with the cross on his neck, fiddling with the metal over his chest between his fingers. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. “Everyone sees me the same, nothing has changed in my reputation. But the power I have here, I think God can feel it." His voice is thick, his tone almost eerie. you nod delicately.  “I dont think it’s a bad thing people see you the same. They’ve always had high respect for you.” 

He pauses, his brows furrowed and his breathing slowed. “Do you?” he questions. Your palms begin to sweat and you begin to feel squirmy. “What? Of course I do, we all-” you ramble but he hushes you. “I didn't ask about everyone, I asked if you did.” he says sternly. He stands from his seat and towers in front of you as your back presses against the pews. “Anakin, i, of  course I do.” You mumble. He looks down at you and runs his knuckles down your cheekbone. 

“Of course you do, you would never disobey your father, your god.” His voice is silk. Your breathing halts and your legs cross. Your face turns away from his gaze and he can feel your body become warm. 

“You Are devoted to your god, aren’t to.” his hand holds your face up to look at his and his thumb presses under your jawline. “Yes father.” you mumble. His eyes move to your lips and he slowly moves his fingers to trace the pink skin. His fingers begin to force their way into your mouth. You don’t even think about moving, telling him to stop. This was your priest, you wouldn’t disobey. “Suck.” he mutters. You obey, sucking gently and swirling your tongue around his flesh. Your eyes are interlocked with his. His face is cold as his jawline is tightly clenched. 

He pulls his fingers out and moves down onto his knees, his face eye level with your stomach. He rolls your flowy sunday dress up your thighs and his jaw falls slack as he looks up and down your lace panties. “Your dripping, god made you so beautiful.” he kisses up your thigh as he slides the lace down your legs and stuffs them in his pocket, having no intentions to give them back to you. He licks a long stripe down your folds and your hands go to grip his shoulders when your body starts to shudder under him. His still wet fingers make their way into you and your nails dig into his shoulders through his button up. His lips wrap around your clit and his fingers curl inside of you. You bite your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape your lips. “Don't be quiet, let god hear how  good you feel.” 

He continues to tease you with the tip of his tongue.  your lips part  and your head falls back against the wooden pews. “You taste like heaven” he murmurs, almost too quietly for you to catch.

 He removes his fingers, leaving you to whine due to the empty feeling hes given you. He leaves kisses up your clothed stomach and makes his way up your jaw as he starts to stand and undo his belt. His pants and boxers fall to his ankles and he pulls your hips up to meet his. He lines your folds up with him before pushing himself into you. Your back arches and you cry out from the intense burn from your stretching pussy. 

“You're a virgin aren't you.” anakin asks, gripping your hips tightly as he gives you a moment to adjust. You nod frantically and he chuckles. “God would be proud of you.” He kisses your temple and begins to move his hips. The burn slowly turns into an intense feeling of pure pleasure. Low moans escape you and the priest's lips as he thrusts hard and slow into you. 

Sweat beads drip down his forehead and darken his blonde curls. His lips move to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. “Can you feel god through me?” he  grunts. “Yes, father.” you squeal. But with the way you are whining and clenching around him, he's convinced you are god, and this is heaven. 

His thrusting becomes quick and sloppy, your whining sounds like Hymns in his ear. He feels you clench around him and he holds onto your hips tighter, leaving dark bruises into your skin. “Let go, finish around your priest.” he commands, and you’ll always do what the father asks of you. 

You mind is fuzzy as he fucks you into oblivion. You feel the knot in your stomach unravel as anakin holds your body close to his chest, coating your walls with his orgasm. He pulls out, continuing to hold you close to him. He gently sets you on the pews. He takes your panties out of his pocket and wipes the slick around your folds to clean you up. He pulls his pants up and He slips them back into his pocket . He kisses your forehead and picks up his vestments and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Will I be seeing you next Sunday, my dear?” Anakin asks. You nod and give him a small smile. “Yes father.” he smiles approvingly and walks to his office in the now empty church.  

AN//: OMGGG im so sorry this is late. This is my first one shot on tumblr and the first post for kinktober! Please like if you enjoyed and let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next post or to be removed from the current tag list. Love all. - beee! 

Tag list : @thesassypadawan @kirbie44danielle  @niconico33333777  @heelvr78 @goldie-00 @anakinstwinklebunny @enchant5d @bxbyysstuff @quandoquires @starwalkertales @rxaddix2 @necromancerrrs @s1aywalker @stephennglass @s1ck-skv1l @jyinnc @pxscalsofia

[octoberautumnbox]

Win Trading

fromis_9 Lee Nagyung & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, sloppy handjob, fingerblasting, titsucking a little bit, makeout, mutual masturbation

Word count: 2.0k

a/n: for legal purposes yes this is the june fic :DDDD happy nakko day!

Even though you’re sitting on the living room sofa three and a half meters away from her room, eating your popcorn, and with the TV blaring nonsense, the telltale signs of Nagyung’s frustration still reach you. Agitated clicking and button-mashing noises travel past her door frame and across the hallway to you, letting you know her game isn’t going all that well. The certainty of it sets in when the sounds pause briefly, followed by the unmistakable sound of her mouse being smashed onto her desk. 

Scooch over a little bit to the left, free up some space on the couch. Reach for the yet-closed pack of chips on the coffee table in anticipation of your soon-to-be movie buddy. You know it's bad; the challenge now is figuring out how bad it is. 

Like clockwork, Nagyung stomps out of her room and towards her spot on the couch. She takes her seat next to you, evidently still recovering from her earlier fuming, with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. You've always known that she looked cute, but there's a certain allure to her when she's angry. The way her brow furrows when she’s mad sets off your cuteness aggression, but for your mutual wellbeing you keep yourself under control. 

Make a show of opening her chips for her – crinkle the plastic pack and exaggerate your arm movements. Offer her her chips and hope it calms her down. Most importantly, avoid eye contact this early on and do not rock the boat. 

Despite your best efforts, her tilt makes itself sorely known. She swats away the pack of chips in annoyance, which still thankfully lands on the coffee table with minimal spill. Nagyung, however, desperately looks for an outlet for her frustrations, and you really can't blame her. It must have been a really bad game. 

She hops on top of you, straddles you, and forces her lips on yours. You meet her halfway and in no time at all your tongue is swirling around hers and sharing spit. A moan escapes her when you hold her waist and pull her close, followed by another when you rub her tummy. She wraps her arms around your neck and you can only imagine what goes through her head when in a position like this.

Keep palming her tummy under shirt, continuing to rub from her abs to her sides to her chest. Move slow, but don’t linger; take your fill of her body, but not so much as to sate her even if it also doesn't sate you. She eats it right up and leaves her wanting more, all at the same time. Grip and squeeze at her weak spots, all the while she grows more desperate with her prolonged connection to your lips. 

You feel her need through her shorts, the warmth emanating from her core tempting you to wander farther down. You do just that, slowly again, pressing her buttons in just the right way to bring out your needy Nakko. You pull her shorts down steadily, and you find she's much more than ready. The gentle breezes of your air-conditioning meet the skin of her ass and thighs, and her exposure to the elements and to you spur her on even more. 

In response, she pulls your pants off too. She's much less careful, much less calculated – strategy thrown out the window and instead caught up in a sinful rush of emotions. Swiftly you lose your pants and underwear, and Nagyung wraps her fingers reverently around your hardening shaft. 

The slow grazes you deliver over her clit are reciprocated with steady strokes on your cock. Each swipe over her sensitive nub elicits another groan of her pleasure, again and again and again, until she finally breaks the kiss and lets a streak of saliva connect your lips. She collects everything she can on her palm before returning to your delicious handjob. 

Your shirt is the next to go, practically torn off in Nagyung's frenzy. She nearly rips the neckline, and you almost admonish her for it, but the only harm being done is how she's left your cock without her hand's immoral pleasure. Her shirt follows, and with her help you're able to do it with only one hand. Even now, you deny her respite from rubbing her clit, and the momentary obstruction of her vision as her shirt is pulled over her head elicits another groan of approval from her. 

And there she sat on your lap, the goddess Lee Nagyung, fully bare for you to ogle and grope as you please. Her perky tits bounce as she jerks your cock with both hands, her gaze intense on your tip as if making you cum would give her the victory she deserved. Her pink nipples are taut, and the moment your free hand makes contact with her chest she throws her head back and gasps in arousal. Your thumb circles her nipple, leading her to bite her lip, just as your other thumb continues to play with her clit unceasingly and in growing need. 

Each time she feels her handjob drying out, she lubricates her palms with more of her spit. She mercilessly continues pumping your cock, her head undoubtedly filling with thoughts of pride that she gets you all to herself. Each time she shoots a cursory look to you, establishing shaky eye contact, her eyes shut again just as you deliver deliciously harsh pinches on her nipples. Soon after, her fingers momentarily part her pussy lips to smear her palm with her slick, before ultimately taking your manhood in between her hands to jerk off again. All the while, she struggles back tears of impatience that she isn't impaling herself on your cock just yet. 

And of course she doesn't; she's a level-headed player in it for the late game. She knows if she holds out that she gets first place in your heart, and the prize that comes with it makes it all the more worth holding out for: riding you raw and getting her tight little fuckhole filled up with your thick and warm seed. 

For now though, she has to settle with rubbing your thick cock with her hands just as you watch her boobs bounce in front of your face. Pull her close, suck and nibble on her stiff nipples, only rub and tease her pussy lips to heighten her need. 

It’s here you find yourself in the ultimate war of attrition: straddling your lap is the sexiest woman in the world naked for you and you alone, pumping your cock with everything she's got and relishing in how shamelessly you feast on her perfect, flawless body. You can't take your eyes off her perfect breasts, how they jiggle and bounce in your face, how every little lick on her sensitive nubs only makes her leak more of her pussy juices for you to fingerfuck her even better. 

The glances you steal of her eyes in the rare times you make eye contact spell disaster for the both of you, as Nagyung eyes your body with a similar lustful desire. The way you look into her soul sends a signal to her mind, and you unconsciously tell her to lick her lips, moan another sultry moan, jerk you off harder. Tears start to well in her eyes as she struggles to keep them open, slowly being overcome with the pleasure you inflict on her sex. It's one thing that she's getting off to you're watching her naked form commit such sinful acts, it’s another to try and get you off to her body, and another still that she's drawing such obscene joy from having your cock in her hands with no other objective in the world than to look pretty for you and make you cum. 

Eventually she stops trying to keep her eyes open anymore, and naturally her tears follow. They run down her cheeks as a pained yet pleasured expression takes over her goddess-like features, signaling her defenses starting to falter. Her head hangs to the side and her hand job grows harsher; you know as early as now that by the end of tonight you're going to be sore for a week. Still, the way she diligently pumps your hard cock with nothing but love and need makes everything worth it, and with how you flex your fingers inside of her and rub the walls of her tight, needy cavern, you’re determined to make it worthwhile for her too.

And true to heart, it works. Your fingers hit every single one of her good spots, even the ones she didn’t know she had, and she practically melts in your hands. Her entire being follows your will, and you manipulate her like she’s just a puppet under your control. 

All good things come to an end, however, and yours is just about up. Nagyung fulfills her mission and, technically, wins the game, and you’re more than happy to let her have this victory (like you had a choice). Her gaze is filled with a sinister lust, and it’s aimed at nothing else in the world but you. Your cock is coated with the perfect amount of her slick, your tip leaking copious amounts of fluids to lubricate even more, and Nagyung has you on the ropes fighting a battle long lost. 

A blinding white flashes in your eyes, your defenses fail, and it all comes crashing down. Your head is thrown back in pleasure, a defeated groan escapes your mouth, and spurts of cum shoot out of you, painting her perfect belly with your thick and warm seed. She doesn't stop rubbing along your entire length in deep and fast strokes, and you could swear she knew everything about you to keep you shooting your baby batter all over her tummy, giving you constant pleasure and squeezing every single drop of your delicious cum for her toned and sexy abs. As the final nail in the coffin, Nagyung abruptly stops pumping your cock, and it shows off how she was in control the entire time. The sudden lack of pleasure forces you to start humping her hands, and she goes crazy at the mere sight of you, eyes shut and fucking the closest thing to her pussy that you have right now.

Her good time inevitably draws to a close as well. In the midst of her relishing in her victory and your warm cum smeared across her midriff, a single well-timed push of her button is what sends her careening over the edge right after you. Just as your finger makes contact with her weak spot, her eyes go from shut impossibly tight to wide open in a matter of milliseconds. Her body seizes, her pussy clenches, and all hell breaks loose. A cry of world-ending release rips through her throat, and her girlcum sprays out of her in streaks, the sheer amount of it coming and coming like it’s the first time she’s ever been touched in ages. Tears fall generously from the corners of her hypnotizing eyes, and her hips jerk and hump against your merciless fingers again and again like it’s the only thing she knows. 

Once it's all over and you’re both unmistakably spent, Nagyung crashes onto your chest, her own chest heaving in life-or-death attempts at getting air back into her lungs. Her arms fall on your shoulders on either side of your head, and she wraps your neck in a hug. At the same time, you withdraw from her abused pussy and pull her in for a hug of your own by her waist. You spend an unknowable amount of time like this, just breathing, just recovering, just you and her. 

Breaking the ice, Nagyung puts all her remaining strength into lifting her head and placing her lips on yours. Of course you reciprocate, but in contrast to the earlier needy and horny making out, your kiss now is tender and loving, as if exchanging thank-yous and greetings of a game well played. 

~~~

a/n: short one this time lmao but i had fun writing it and it was a great experiment to do! thanks as well to @leafostuff for beta and stay tuned for july :>

[harrywavycurly]

I’m a sucker for a fake marriage AU but what if Harry married us for real but because he had to? Or because he was drunk? Then he falls for us for real?🥹😍

Hiiii babes!! I too love a fake marriage AU they just like hit a special spot in my soul! So I changed this slightly, I hope you don’t mind? 😬💖

A/N: This is kinda short but if you want a part 2 let me know and it’ll go into more detail about everything✨

-find all things Lonely here✨

Summary: Harry is just tired of being lonely and well..he knows you are too so what could it hurt to just be together? Aka Harry asks his bestfriend to marry him✨

“Harry please stand up.”

“You didn’t even let me finish what-”

“I don’t need to let you finish to know what getting down on one knee means Harry.” Your words are rushed as you feel your breathing begin to become more rapid due to the overwhelming sense of panic that’s settling in your chest. “Please stand up.” You hear him let out a sigh as he reluctantly stands up but stays standing right in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the pink and orange striped cushion of your outdoor loveseat, you watch him as he reaches over so he can place the ring box on the table next to you.

“Will you just let me explain myself please?” He asks with a raised eyebrow as he watches how you place your hands in your lap and being messing with the ring on your pinky, a habit he knows you do when you’re nervous or stressed. He immediately takes a small step closer to you when he realizes he’s the cause behind you feeling so uneasy, he kneels down so he’s eye level with you and places a hand over both of yours.

“I’m sorry for just dropping to one knee like that.” He gives your hands a little squeeze as he ducks his head down a bit until you finally meet his gaze. “That was a bit dramatic even for me but I just need to get this out okay? And then when I’m done you can do that thing you love to do and ask me a million questions and I’ll answer all of them.” He looks at you and when you just give him a small nod he smiles and stands up after giving your hands one more reassuring squeeze.

Harry clears his throat and readies himself to give you the detailed explanation as to why he showed up to your house for lunch dressed as if he was headed for an event in his powder pink suit with blue button up underneath, roses in his hand and then before you could even serve him a glass of wine he was down on one knee with a box in his hand. You take a few deep calming breaths reminding yourself that the man in front of you is Harry, your bestfriend and he doesn’t do things for no reason so you’ll sit and listen to him because he’d do the same for you if it was you who’d been down on one knee in front of him not even five minutes ago. He runs a hand through his hair as he finally lets his eyes find yours just as a playful smirk takes over his face as his eyes flicker to the roses on the table next to the loveseat you’re sitting on before returning to you.

“We’ve been friends for what? Eleven years now?” You know by the playfully tone of his voice that he doesn’t actually want you to answer him. “I remember we met at that house party and I was so flattered that you were going to let me be the first frat boy to take you home.” You roll your eyes as the memory of meeting Harry replays in your mind.

It was at a college house party and he was in the kitchen with a red solo cup in his hand, a backwards SnapBack covering up his beautiful head of curls, a red flannel half buttoned and a pair of black skinny jeans. You thought he looked actually like the fraternity boys your fiends had warned you about but there was something different about him, the way his smile seemed so genuine when he saw you walk into the small space and offered you a drink and it was when you saw the dimples and heard his accent that you knew you were in trouble. The two of you stuck together the rest of the party and when it was starting to get too wild for your taste you told him he could take you home and Harry who’s always been a gentleman, said his place was closer.

“Then you had to go and ruin the moment by throwing up all over my boots.”

“I ruined the moment? It wasn’t the fact you weren’t even a frat boy but just a member of some boyband who liked to crash college parties?” This makes Harry let out a huff as he shakes his head at your teasing.

“Some boyband? That’s a bit rude love.” He playfully glares at you as you lean back and get more comfortable in your seat. “But that’s also the night we became bestfriends because as I helped you get home and held your hair while you got sick we just talked all night and if I remember correctly which we both know my memory is one of my strong suits then that’s also the first time you stole one of my shirts.” The playful smile that’s on his lips makes you look down at your hands in your lap and lift a shoulder in a casual shrug.

“You gave it to me.” You argue as you look up making Harry just nod as the smile on his face grows.

“I did didn’t I?” He asks and the look on his face tells you he was almost testing you to see if you remember the night the same way he does. “You remember the kiss right? In the backyard by-”

“The pool. Yes Harry I remember.” You don’t know why the memory of Harry kissing you drunkenly by a pool at a house party makes your cheeks get warm in embarrassment but it does. “What’s this have to do with you getting down on one knee?” You want him to get on with the explanation because going down memory lane with him isn’t something you’re sure you have the energy for right now.

“Right. Sorry.” He shake his head as if to try to refocus his thoughts on what he’s actually trying to get across to you. “I feel like I have everything I could ever want in life. I have more money than I know what to do with and I have a career that I love and I’m finally at a place where I can just sit back and enjoy all the hard work I’ve done over the last fifteen years of my life and relax a little but taking this time off has made me realize something.” Your eyes meet his as he lets out a sigh as he looks into your eyes and you swear you see a hint of sadness tucked away in the dark specks of his bright green eyes. “I don’t have anyone to share my life with. I know I have my family and friends but I’m still so fucking lonely.” His voice is lower than before and your heart aches for him, you know Harry isn’t one that’s ever dealt with being alone very well and all this free time has been a little harder on him than he intended it to be.

“I just want to be with someone that makes saying goodbye hard and that makes me want to rush home just because I know they’re there waiting for me.” The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights the small smile that wants to form. “I want to be someone’s husband and I think that someone should be you.” You feel your mouth drop open as your eyes widen at his statement.

Harry lets you have a few moments to let his words sink in as he takes a few steps towards the table the roses are on so he can grab the box he had in hands when he was down on one knee. He gently opens the top and reaches in and takes the simple gold band out and holds it between his index finger and thumb before placing the empty box back on the table. When he looks over at you he just gives you a reassuring grin when he sees you’re already looking up at him.

“I know you’re lonely too sweetheart.” You let out a shaky breath as he kneels down in front of you and gently grabs your left hand. “But you don’t have to be anymore.” Your eyes glance down at your hand as Harry starts to slowly slide the band on your ring finger. “We already have a great foundation because no one knows you better than me right?” He gives you a playful wink as he slides the band past your knuckle.

“Like I know how you take your coffee in the morning and how you need to be held when you’re upset. I know how to make your perfect bubble bath and I can tell if you’re in a bad mood just by the way you text me. I know when you need red wine and when you need white or when you just need a bottle of tequila and a lime. I know all your fears and I know all the amazing dreams you have and I’ll happily help you make them come true if you’ll let me.” You sniffle as you feel your eyes start to have that familiar sting letting you know you’re a few moments away from full on crying.

“Harry-”

“I love you and I know you’re going to tell me it’s not the same as being in love with you but I think that will come with time? Don’t you? I know you love me too and I don’t see how this couldn’t work? It’s not even like the physical stuff would be weird because we’ve hooked-”

“You shouldn’t marry someone just because you’re lonely Harry.” You have to stop him from saying anything else as you feel a few tears escape from your eyes as they roll down your cheeks and before you can wipe them away Harry has his hands cupping the sides of your face and his thumbs are gently swiping them away.

“I’m lonely yes but that’s not the only reason why I want to marry you. I think you might be my person and I just spent too long trying to just keep you in my life anyway that I could and now I just can’t imagine myself being anyone else’s husband but yours.” He knows he sounds crazy but he also knows he’s talking to you, the one person who understands him the most.

“Why now?” You ask as you reach up and place one of your hands over his that’s still holding the side of your face.

“We aren’t getting any younger love so figured it was now or never.” His answer makes you chuckle as you lean into his touch. “I know this is a lot and if you need some time that’s fine.” You just nod as he leans forward and places a kiss to your forehead, you drop your hand from the top of his so he can release the sides of your face. “Just don’t take too much time yeah? You know how I get.” He half heartedly jokes as he stands up, you watch him look down at your hand and a small smile creeps onto his face as he sees the gold band sitting nicely on your ring finger.

“Call me when you’re ready sweetheart.” Is all he says as he leans down and kisses the top of your head before he turns and heads towards the gate of your backyard that will take to your driveway where his car is parked. You just sit there and stare at the ring on your finger as you hear the sound of his car starting up, you feel your eyes fill with a new wave of tears as the sound of his car backing out of your driveway hits your ears.

“Oh god.” You mumble to yourself as you place your head in your hands as the events of the afternoon really hit you, your bestfriend really asked you to marry him. You close your eyes as you come to the understanding that while he admitted he does love you he’s not in love with you, making you face something that you’ve been trying to avoid for years, the fact you actually are in love with him. So now you’re left with two choices, marry him and hope he does one day fall in love with you or tell him no and hope it doesn’t ruin the friendship the two of you have.

[willyoubemycherryy]

Hypervision. (sneakpeek)

Older!Logan Howlett x reader

Warnings: medium burn, age gap, cursing, flirting, angst, violence, fluff, hurt & comfort, making out, old man logan, detailed smut, plot twists, drama and more. 18+ this story will have multiple parts

Summary: He was just supposed to be the bodyguard but everyone has secrets…

𝙑𝙞𝙚𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙...

•

•

•

This was going to bite him in the ass in the end. Part of him blames the man who set this up, this gig from originally being your chauffeur then the upgrade to bodyguard.

That’s all he was meant to do so why….

A rugged groan rips from Logan’s throat when you suddenly suck the sensitive spot under his neck, sultry tongue trailing up until you reach his ear giving it the same treatment as Logan’s hands tighten their grip on your hips where you’re seated on his lap.

You don’t stop though, prettily done hands run over thick muscles through his suit, wrinkling it in your haste to get it undone, freezing as you feel just how big he is. Biting your lip, you look at him through your lashes gasping oh so breathily and Logan knows he is not going to be strong enough to resist you. Not tonight.

And in the past, he’s tried. You’re young, you have your entire life to enjoy all the sweetness that came with your youth whereas he was just a bitter old man.

It was both his blessing and his curse that you didn’t care about that. Still…

“Doll, I don’t think you really want this-“, Logan tries to talk some sense into you through the haze of his own arousal, cock throbbing so painfully that he really wonders what harm getting it wet by a pretty little thing like you could truly be, but it’s no use because you’re just as gone as he is.

The temperature rises as you pull down the top of tiny glittery wrap you called a dress, letting your soft tits spill out, hard nipples begging to be in his mouth before you take his shirt and pull, making buttons fly everywhere and then his belt is next to go with you reaching in to pull out his length. Swearing when your fingers can’t even touch from how thick he is. You catch his mouth in a messy kiss, moaning with your hot tongue slotted against his before you pull away and he’s a bit dizzy from how much is about to happen.

“Oh but I do want this, I want you…and everything you can give me.” You purr, using the fat head of his cock to rub against your wet clit, sliding him through your drooling cunt and that’s Logan’s final straw as his big hand winds around your throat, your responding keen making his blood boil as he slides in…

He’s going to ruin you but as your bodyguard he was supposed to be doing the opposite.

There’s no way you’ll both make it out unscathed.

Chapter 1 >>.*•

[rainkays]

girl please i am on my knees give us another rain x reader the fics are running drier than the sahara desert on this app

at ur service 🫡🫡 (also so sorry for the inactivity ik ive been taking forever to answer asks but i PROMISE im getting to them rn ily) SPOILERS BELOW !!

A LITTLE DEATH | RAIN CARRADINE X FEM! READER (alien romulus)

SYNOPSIS: separated from rain and facing certain death, how far is she willing to go to save you?

WARNINGS: (mentions of blood/death, swearing, kissing)

NOTE: this is gonna be a rain x fem! reader & will be slightly au with reader taking kay’s place during the scene where she’s being chased by the xeno, hope u enjoy <33

THE NEIGHBOR WAS KNOCKING, YEAH.

BUT NO ONE WOULD LET HIM IN…..

everything went sideways faster than you ever could’ve imagined. it was already off to a rough start when navarro had come rushing into the cockpit, frantically searching for her bag before you’d handed it to her.

never in your wildest dreams could you ever have imagined what you witnessed. the sound of a cracking ribcage and blood splatter all over the ships walls were the last thing you could remember.

you weren’t sure how long it had been when you woke the next time, head pressed against the grates on the bottom of the ships floor. smoke rose around you, the sound of the ships alarms blaring as you pushed yourself off the ground. you had to hold back your tears as you passed by navarro’s body, lifeless on the floor.

it was deathly silent, save the alarms, the sound of electricity crackling as you walked through the hull of the ship. you didn’t know where you were, the ship having crashed at any part of the station as far as you knew.

it was only a few steps before you saw what looked like some sort of snake skin on the floor, the sight sending a chill up your spine. you spotted something you couldn’t even begin to explain growing out of the wall, a step closer before you were pulled backwards.

your scream was silenced quickly as you whipped around, turning to face bjorn. you silently exhaled at the sight of him, glad to finally see someone you recognized. he shushed you, removing his hand from your mouth as he looked over at the wall.

he walked closer to it, lightening prod in his hand, the same one you’d seen him grab from the station earlier. you held your breath, your heart beating faster as you watched him turn up the current on the weapon.

it was over nearly as quickly as it started, the loud sound of electrical cracking and smoke as he attempted to kill the creature in front of you.

you could only stand still, frozen as the creature began to burn him, his hand pointing you towards the door. all you had left to do was run.

your hands shook as you made your way to the door, repeatedly pressing the unlock button and failing. your comms were somehow still functioning, static crackling in your ear as you turned it on in hopes of anyone hearing you.

I WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME THERE

MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I AM HUMAN…

rain had never felt like crushing suspense weighing on her chest before. she walked through the room, quiet as humanly possible, the clicking sounds of the same creatures that had attacked navarro all around her.

she could’ve sworn her heart nearly fell out of her chest at the sound of static over the comms. it was you. it had to be you, right?

it quickly caught the attention of tyler and andy, both turning around to see what was so urgent.

“please, please, somebody help me. there’s some fucking- i don’t know what to do, please.”

the voice was distorted, but she would recognize it anywhere. she could practically hear the tremors in your voice over the comms. she quickly put the headset on, speaking into the microphone.

“where are you, what’s going on?”

“oh, jesus christ. thank god, rain. i’m at some door, the ship crashed in this hangar and i can’t fucking get it open.”

“there should be a key somewhere, okay? just look for a key, there has to be one, that’s the only way to get it open.”

there was a moment of silence, rain attributed to your search of a way to open the door.

“i found it, i found it.”

she exhaled, hearing the sound of the door hissing open, before the static crack of the comms cut off your voice again.

she shot a look to tyler, the 3 of them picking up their pace as he tracked your heat signature. there was only a glass door separating you, the relief that washed over both your and rain’s faces evident.

“oh thank god. please, open this fucking door. there’s some kind of security clearance on it, and i can’t get it open.”

rain turned around, ushering andy toward the door as she walked closer toward the glass.

“we’re gonna get you out of there, okay? just trust me, you gotta trust me.”

rain spoke, head against the glass as you glanced over your shoulder. your heart thrummed against your chest as you watched andy stand still, both rain and tyler pleading with him to open the door.

“guys, please. please, what are you doing? come on, open the door. open the fucking door! please!”

you felt the blood drip from the wound on the side of your head, the sound of metal creaking altering you of a presence behind you. you watched as the color in rain’s face drained, andy’s face stoic.

“rain, please open the door, please. please, you have to help me, okay?”

“you’re gonna be fine baby, we’re gonna get the door open, okay? just keep your eyes on me, don’t look away.”

your chest rise and fell rapidly, the sounds behind you growing closer. you watched as rain’s fists gripped the collar of andy’s suit, pleading with him. his eyes looked between the two of you, your hands pressed against the glass.

andy walked closer to the door, looking at the keypad. you turned around, no sign of anyone in the room with you.

“andy, please, please. please, you have to let me in, please.”

rain looked up at him, her hand on his arm as he reached for the keypad.

“fuck, thank god.”

the door hissed and slid open as you squeezed your way through the crack as it did. you fell into rain’s arms, the sound of the door beginning to close once more as something smashed into the glass.

“i got you, i got you. you’re okay.”

rain spoke into your ear, hands smoothing over your back as the two of you fell to the floor. she pulled the two of you up, hands steadying on your shoulders. there was ringing in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat destroying her words as she spoke.

she grabbed your hand, leading you to the elevator. she silently thanked god that andy opened that door for you. she held onto you, hands gripping the material of your t shirt. she wouldn’t let you go again.

MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I AM HUMAN, AGAIN….

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter eight

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. Mentions of drug use

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

A lot of cheap black hair dye is just concentrated blue. 

The first time Touya dyed his hair black, you sat in the sink of his parent's bathroom and pointed out all the spots he missed. You were sixteen and love still tasted like his cinnamon gum. He stood in his tub, school uniform still on, collar and skin stained with ashy blue water that ran down from his scalp. Smears of it were somehow everywhere: against the tiled walls, across the front of his button down, and even down the span of the porcelain tub. The memory is drowned in blue, from the curtains to the twinkle in his eye.  A metaphor sits on your tongue whenever you think about it, too obvious to hold, too painful to ignore.

“Your parents are gonna be so pissed,” you said. Your own parents thought you were studying with your friends, instead of perched in your boyfriend’s private bathroom, door closed and away from the prying eyes of his younger siblings. 

“Whatever.”

He wasn’t skinny back then, before the tattoos, piercings and heroin. When he raised his arms to wash the sludge of boxed dye from his hair, the tiniest bit of pudge on his stomach stuck out from the edge of his shirt, but Touya was attractive enough -and unhinged enough- that no one ever used it against him. He was handsome in the same way his mother was beautiful: tragically, classically. A button nose, clear eyes, with almost transparently pale skin: loving him, being loved by him, made you feel like Jane Eyre.

“Enji’s been itching to remodel this bathroom anyway. It’ll give Rei a reason to get out of bed.”  His relationships with both parents were always so volatile, even before the fall. His mother bounced from overpresent and panicked, to completely absent, stuck in bed for seemingly weeks at a time. Touya said the whole cycle would never stop; it was because she hated the medications her doctor’s gave her, but also couldn’t live without them. Made the world too quiet, she said, couldn’t stand the quiet for too long. 

(Later, Touya found out how much he craved that quiet, how much he loved being alone in it all. He’d pick at the medicine cabinet until his dad found out and threatened to kill him if it happened again.)

With freshly black hair, Touya shook his head like a dog and splatters of blue water sprinkled across the bathroom. Wetness makes hair darker, but you know that even dry,  You giggled and it pulled out peels of laughter from him too, until you were both hunched over, giggling at nothing and everything all at once. He stepped out of the tub and inserted himself between your legs, hands coming to ghost over your face as he held you exactly how you needed. The spots where his ears were pierced were still and swollen, like unripe cherries. 

“Do you like it?” His smile was freshly straight-- or maybe his braces were still on at that point. The details have been revisited so many times that you’ve begun to forget them, but you have no doubt that he smiled-- bright and sweet and juvenile in ways he’ll never touch again. 

“I’ll miss the blonde,” you admitted. “But this is kinda cute too.”

He clutched you tight and you held him back, his head in your hands.  “You’re so fucking mean to me.”

And you kissed him quiet. And you kissed him until the taste of cinnamon was synonymous with the taste of being alive. There was a metaphor there, something too obvious, something  When he pulled away, your fingers were marked with him, dye running down your fingers and wrists, blue burying into your skin, so, deep, so vivid-

“Uh oh, did your pen explode?”

 Hizashi’s voice drags you back to the present.

Your hands are stained with ink. The bottom of your pen case is spotted in blue.

“Yeah, sorry, uh-”  You flounder a bit as you look around the front seat. Unlike Kaminari’s car, there’s no excess trash or tissues floating about to grab. 

“I have wipes in the glovebox, babygirl.” 

 You carefully pop it open. Hizashi’s car is nice - all black pleather and freshly vacuumed floors, with seats that recline all the way back. You’re careful not to ruin anything as you tug a wipe free and scrub away the stains, silently working until your skin starts to wrinkle. The sun has decided to peek out for the first time in a week, much to Hizashi’s delight; he’s been humming along to the radio since your apartment, bouncing from channel to channel as he pleases. The UA Conference and Exposition starts today and, if the GPS is correct, you’ll be there early enough to get your bearings before the fun begins.

And, if the GPS is correct, you only have 15 minutes to gather yourself before Aizawa Shouta enters the car.

After the incident, Aizawa had started working from home, either for his benefit or HR’s. His absence left a void in the office that was quickly filled with intern’s chaos. Turns out, Aizawa really was keeping them all in line all this time-- as far as you can tell, almost no work has gotten done since he’s been gone. That’s the real tragedy of it all: he’s terribly good at his job and the company probably couldn’t float without him. HR would have a nightmare of a time replacing him.

Not that you want him gone. 

You’re hurt, sure, but bringing HR into this mess would only open a can of worms and every little bug would link back to the fact you sent the man an unprompted nude. 

Hizashi turns the radio down, leaving you two alone with the whir of the wheels against the road. “You okay? You’ve been bleh all week.”

“Yeah, I’m just--” Sad, pissed, poor, lonely, pathetic-  “Nervous about this convention.”

It’s not a lie. As the week crept along, you found yourself more and more nervous for this trip, partially because of Aizawa, mostly because of everything else. You’ve never been to one of these events before-- what if you say the wrong thing, or miss a panel, or you’re not dressed well enough and you make the company look stupid? There’s so many silly little faux paus you could commit without even realizing it-

“Don’t be. It’ll be fun.” Hizashi glances over his pink prada sunglasses. As usual, he’s dressed well, donning a deep eggplant colored button down and freshly pleated black pants. “There’s a lot of things going on, sure, but there’s a bunch of things to see and swag bags to collect-”

He nudges you with his elbow until it teases a giggle out of you. 

“And there’s always rich, hot doctors looking for a weekend fling.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun with them,” you say.

“You’re the one who needs to have fun with them!” Hizashi says.  “You need a play thing to get your mind off of… everything.”

He grimaces at the last word and you wonder how much he knows about what's been happening in office.  Probably a lot; you haven’t told him, but you know how everyone talks. You both get quiet for a bit, then Hizashi starts up again, that seasick smile still on his face.

“I actually think if you guys would stop biting each other’s heads off, you’d be best buds.” he says, “I do! He’s a really good hearted guy when he isn’t-”

“When he isn’t calling my boyfriend a junkie?” you quickly correct yourself before Hizashi can react. “Ex boyfriend.”

“He feels bad about that. Really. He just can’t bring himself to apologize correctly-- I’ll make him tell you, you’ll see.”

“Hizashi, that sounds like hell.” You sink down into the seat with a groan. You can imagine Aizawa’s stupid, uncaring face as he’s forced to apologize to you during your almost three hour-long car ride. No escape, nowhere to hide. God, it feels like some convoluted punishment that an author would come up with for shitty fanfiction.

He pulls off of the highway into a part of town you don’t recognize. It’s more suburban, with neighborhoods right near the train stations. This air isn’t as rich as Toshinori’s neighborhood, but you can taste the money. 

 “Can’t he drive himself today?” you complain, watching the GPS click closer and closer to arrival time.

“Can you drive yourself?”

The question flusters you. “I could, but I don't have a car.”

“Then you just have to deal with it, sorry!” Hizashi hums a couple bars of music in between words.  “See? There’s something you two can bound over: being driven around by me-”

Very funny. If you guys were going to bond over anything, it’d be the fact that you- well--

Huh. Actually, you don’t know very much about the man at all. You know he likes yellow, that he works too hard, that maybe he likes cats… You certainly didn’t know he lived in a place like this.

Maybe he’s a secret serial killer. Or he kicks puppies. You don’t know!

Before you can work yourself into a tizzy, Hizashi takes a turn and you’re there. Aizawa’s house is smaller than you expected-- much smaller. It’s quaint, almost twee, and certainly not a new construct. It reminds you of old New England, this faded blue thing tucked onto the corner of a street. Nicely mowed lawn, small bushes in freshly turned soil: and you have to laugh at the thought of Aizawa doing physical labor. It’s painfully humble. 

Before today, it was as if Aizawa didn’t exist outside of Prome. He existed only in those four walls and the stories Nemuri and Hizashi told you over late night drinks.

…and, of course, in your text messages.

The flux of work and real life is always strange to handle-- especially your own. You try to keep the mess from spilling together. Their densities are different: work rises to the top when home keeps sinking below it.

You think of Touya and the ink stains on your palms.

A cat lounges in the window of the top floor, black fur brown in the sunshine as it stretches long. A hand ruffles it for a moment before disappearing and Aizawa Shouta is out of the house about a minute later, bag in hand. Unlike Hizashi, he’s not dressed up-- in fact, he’s dressed worse than usual. Sweatpants and a white t-shirt: he looks like he’s about to fall asleep, not present for a crowd. He takes a second to tuck a key under the mat before trudging over.

Leaning over you, Hizashi wolf whistles out of your window, loud enough your ears ache at the sound.

“Hey, sexy!”

“Children live in this neighborhood, Mic.” 

The older man throws open your door and looms down at you, no humor in his face. A beat passes before he clears his throat expectantly. His raven black hair makes you feel uneasy and you don’t want to figure out why.

“I need the front seat,” Aizawa says after a moment.

Of course he does. What a prick. Your head snaps to Hizashi, searching for backup, but he throws his hands into the air. 

“Do not bring me into this.”

“But I don’t want to move.” You huff and pretend to scroll on your phone, sucking your cheeks hollow in defiance. 

Aizawa’s lip twitches down. 

“Are you seven?”

“You’re the one demanding a front seat,” you shoot back.  “Do you get car sick? Like a toddler?”

“Are you done?”  

“I am.”

“Then move.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

With a rather hefty thunk, Hizashi bounces his head against the steering wheel. “Oh my god, are you guys going to torture me like this all weekend? Because I can’t take much more of this.”

“If she would listen-” Aizawa starts.

“Just tell her!”

Tell you what? You glance up and realize he doesn’t look annoyed. No, his brow is knitted up, his expression is mild. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his suitcase, digging his nail into the seam with a little tap-tap-tap-

He’s nervous?

Your first reaction is to scoff. Who cares that he’s nervous? Not you! Why would you care about some ancient, heartless cunt’s feelings?

But then he clears his throat and steps back, admitting defeat.

“I-” Shouta clears his throat again, voice low. “Fine. I’ll sit in the back.”

Dammit. God fucking damn it. You’re already unbuckling your seatbelt before he can move. 

“You can have the stupid seat.” Your attitude is gone, but you keep pretending. “But you owe me.”

Aizawa visibly relaxes, but he still sneers at you. “Whatever.” 

You two shuffle around each other and you banish yourself to the rear. It’s actually not bad; the seat is bigger and comfortable. You just didn’t want him to win. This is at least a win on your terms. 

“See? Hizashi sighs. “We can all be friends here! This is the ‘good vibes’ car!”

“This is not a ‘good vibes’ car. I know what you do in here,” Aizawa says as he sits. 

“You mean who he does in this car,” you mumble, not expecting to be heard. 

“No, I don’t.”  Aizawa says. “Because he doesn’t know the people he does in this car.”

You don’t laugh, but you breathe a bit heavier through your nose. Aizawa’s shoulders shake with a hint of laughter-- his own joke clearly hitting. Hizashi huffs, clearly more amused than offended.

“Just get in already, you jerks.”

Everything’s quiet until you’re back on the highway. Now, traffic is heavier as people pour into the roads for work. The sun is higher in the sky and the air is still cool post rain, humidity currently drained from the air.  You slip off your heels and tuck your legs under you. From directly behind Hizashi, you can catch a bit of his cologne-- or maybe it’s Aizawa’s? No, it has to be the blonde’s: it’s citrus, strangely sweet from a man’s scent. 

“House looks good.” Hizashi turns to his passenger. 

“Hm.” Aizawa doesn't settle back into the seat, but instead perches on the edge of it, gripping the little bar like a lifeline. In contrast, his voice is uncaring. “It’s fine. The girls are happy about the extra space, at least.”

Hizashi glances back at you through the rearview mirror, shit eating grin smeared across his face. “Shouta's told you about his babies, right?”

An unreasonable panic sets over you. “Human children?”

“What? No-- What?” Aizawa says, befuddled. “You thought I had children?”

“I don’t know!”

“I would have told you before we--- I have cats.” 

You remember the little darling you saw earlier. So, he really does like cats. Interesting. Frankly, knowing he isn’t some animal hating freak makes you feel a little better about everything that’s happened between you. He’s just a ‘you’ hating freaking.

 “Oh, I saw the black one in the window.”

“That's Sesame.” Aizawa says. “And there’s another one named Sushi.”

You snort.

“Yes, I’m a man with cats. I’m sure it’s very funny.” His voice lacks all ire when he can’t turn around and see you. 

“I didn’t think you’d pick such cute names.” you shrug. “I thought it’d be more technical like, I dunno. Motherboard. Linux. Keyboard.”

“You thought I named my cat Keyboard?” 

“Or something.”

He shakes his head and pinches his brow. “I don’t like computers; I just work on one.”  

“Speaking of work--” Hizashi anxiously cuts in before the conversation can turn sour. Traffic has slowed to a crawl, which is nothing unexpected. He lounges back, unaffected by how others honk and weave ahead. “How’s the presentation going?”

Aizawa slumps in his shoulders and groans. “Not quite as organized as I would like, but luckily it isn’t until tomorrow.”

“You’re co-hosting in that assisted mobility panel, right?  That’ll be a nice little warm up.” Hizashi says.

“Barely. That’s Tensei’s brainchild, so I won’t be speaking very much.”  

“What are you presenting on?” You know the answer, of course. You’re just trying to engage politely, for Hizashi’s sake.  “Our bed, right?”

“Partially.” Aizawa turns part way around, then changes his mind and faces front. The carsick thing must have been right on the money. “It’s more about patient care models and the efficacy of our upcoming monitoring systems for improving quality of life. I won't bore you with it.” 

You pull at your seatbelt. You don’t really want to talk to Aizawa right now, but he’s so well informed. “I’d like to hear it.” 

Besides, it’s part of your job to know these things, right? It wouldn’t be the worst thing to learn a little more about what Aizawa’s been up to this whole time. It seems like, despite all of his asshole behavior, he’s actually a pretty involved guy. An assisted mobility talk? Quality of life models? Could he actually be a good person underneath it all?

Aizawa gives you a nod, simple, but pleased. “As you know, it’s primarily to back up the paper that’s being published-”

Paper? What paper?

“But, essentially, I’m trying to convince a room of very smart people that I know what I’m talking about. Which, I do, but-”

Hizashi erupts into giggles. “You’re the worst public speaker.” 

“Thank you so much. I appreciate your vote of confidence.” Aizawa’s voice drips with sarcasm. 

“I assume our product is super good, right? That should make it easy.”

“Yes, it is, but it also isn’t. Once you figure out a method to collect data, anyone can do it. What turns a good advancement into a great one is what you do with the data.” The more he speaks, the more Aizawa’s back untenses and his legs stop bouncing.  “And convincing other people that you know what to do with all of this raw human data  is the hard part.”

He tilts his head as he continues, eyes focused forward. “This bed tracks body temperature, O2, blood pressure and pressure points, but it’s all nonsense until it’s correctly utilized. When should nurses intervene? If our model is overly sensitive, it makes nurses' jobs harder, instead of easier, and a stressed nurse negatively affects patient experience. Stress increases cortisol-”

You chime in. “And cortisol affects the cytokines, so it can delay healing.”

“How did you know that?” Hizashi asks, surprised.

“She’s smart,”  Aizawa waves it off. “But if the model isn’t sensitive enough, it won’t alert nurses at the right intervals, which can also be detrimental to patient health, especially in the ICUs and coma patients that can’t advocate for themselves.”

“And you think we’ve achieved a good balance?”

“I know we have.” The sun hits the side of his face, haloing the soft bits of stubble and highlighting the silvered skin of his scar. The gray bits of his beard are almost golden in the light, and , despite everything, you find yourself smiling just a bit. He looks different in this light, you think, even if its just in your head.  “But convincing everyone else is a different issue.”

“I believe you,” you say.

“That’s…” He fumbles for the first time.  “Thank you.”

Oh, you try to fight how you soften. Being easily won over has always been your downfall; it would be better for you to stay furious, stay vicious, but that fire inside you darkens just a bit. It’s that same fucking ship metaphor that Touya left you with: you’re used to rocky seas, you’re used to hot and cold, drowning and rescue, rocky and unpredictable seas-

The worst thing about habits is that you can see yourself falling into them again, but you still can’t quite escape the rut you’ve carved for yourself through their repetition. 

At least he thinks you’re smart. That sticks with you and buzzes in your chest. 

“You must really care about this stuff,” you say.

From what you can see through his dark curls and side profile, Aizawa’s expression is less pressed than usual. “Of course I do.”

“You guys!” Hizashi throws a watery tone into his voice, all for show. “I’m gonna cry! I love when my buddies get along.”

“We aren’t.” Aizawa is quick to interrupt.  “She’s just being polite. There’s no good will between us.”

Even though you don’t fully agree, you hum an affirmative. Sure, yes, there was a level of social obligation there, but to say there’s nothing positive between you is, well… Maybe it’s incorrect. Maybe it isn’t. 

The rest of the ride is filled with gentle conversation- nothing noteworthy, but nothing boring either. Mostly Hizashi and Aizawa bounce off of each other with little stories and memories- things about friends they used to know, tiny complaints about people around the office, how they miss Toshinori. Aizawa even laughs a couple of times: these deep, rumbling sounds, uneven in a way that sounds like he’s almost unfamiliar with the sensation of it. The two were college friends and you can feel the familiarity in how they feed off of each other.

 It’s simple, but nice, and you can see what Hizashi meant when he said you two would get along.  When he’s not at work, he could be-- 

“I’m sorry, I feel like I neglected you the whole time.” Hizashi says. Sleep had almost taken you away at that point.“I’m not trying to leave you out.”

“It’s fine-- I like listening.” You rub the grit out of your eyes, contacts sticky and dry.  “It’s like a free podcast.” 

“Most podcasts are free, baby girl.” 

The cityscape has changed. The buildings are taller, newer, shinier. It’s still the city, your city, but it has a different life than the outskirts. Gone is the touch of suburbia. If you were still young and fun and beautiful, you’d want to live here, feed yourself on culture and nightlife- 

Hizashi meets your eye in the rearview. “You’re smearing your makeup, by the way.”

“Fuck.” You try to unsmudge your eyeliner with no success. No, you aren’t a city girl, no matter how badly you’d like to be.

“It’s alright-- we have time to go to our rooms and touch up before the con starts. We each have our own room, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I figured you two wouldn’t share.”

“You and Shouta would share before I shared with anyone. I take this weekend very seriously.”

“He does,” Aizawa confirms. “This is his Olympics.”

“You sound insane right now. It would be a huge liability for us to share a room,” you say.

“I am insane-- insanely good at sex.”

“Ugh.”

“Hizashi!”

It’s just after noon when you pull into the hotel’s valet. Even though the building is wedged into a city block, it’s massive and beautifully built, a marvel in its own regard. Blue tile is pressed into neat lines across the white walls, their polished shine dazzling in the low light of the lobby. With the high ceiling, it's something closer to a Grecian vacation spot than a hotel in the middle of a landlocked city. It’s luxurious, it’s rich, it’s… almost romantic. God, no wonder Hizashi gets laid at this place.

The convention hall is attached by a skybridge, this colored glass beauty hanging in the sky above where you enter. An employee catches you staring at it all with a knowing smile. Your skin itches with the idea that you look like you don’t belong here: suburbs girl, with her smeared makeup, gawking at the city. They can probably smell that you could never afford to go here on your own dime. 

Check in goes smoothly, of course. You’re organized and prepaid, so they hand you the room keys and wish you a wonderful stay.  The three rooms you’re given are spread between floors. Hizashi claims the one on the first floor for ‘easy access’ and you and Aizawa are on higher levels. You’re relieved that none of you share a wall; the vibrator you have tucked into your bag is still in the wrapping and you have no idea how loud it’ll be. It’ll be equally mortifying if a stranger hears you, but at least they won’t know who you are or what you look like. It would be a secret that died between you and them.

Oh, no. Is this too nice of a place to masturbate in? Are they going to kick you out for being a nasty little horny freak? No, they would have kicked Hizashi out years ago. Unless he knows a secret that you don’t-

“Come on.” Aizawa himself snaps you out of your spiral. Hizashi has already scurried off, leaving the two of you alone in the lobby. “The elevators are this way.”

You gather your bag and walk with him, matching his stride. He’s not a very tall man, maybe even a little short, but he marches as he walks, quick and forward and sharp. You almost have to jog to keep up. It seems like he notices this and slows his pace a little, but it might be in your head.

Neither of you say anything as you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You check your phone, put it away, and then check it again. Aizawa presses the button again, muttering to himself. 

What is there to say at this point? Where do you even stand?

The elevator comes, the doors close. The floors tick up. You’re both facing towards the door, saying nothing. Muzak floats in the air and it’s gentle tickle feels urging, almost more empty than silence-

“I want to apologize.” Aizawa speaks so suddenly that even he seems a bit surprised at himself. Readjusting his body, bracing his arm against the railing, Aizawa doesn’t look your way, opting to jam his hand in his pockets and watch the floor.  “For it all.”

“It’s okay.” The answer is reflexive; it spills out before you can figure out exactly how you feel.

“It’s not,” he insists. “It’s just not.”

The elevator floats to a stop and the doors open.  It’s your floor. There’s so much to unpack between you, so much to understand about exactly what his apology is for-

“Thank you.” You grip your bag tight as you step out. “I think.”

A thick, warm hand envelops your wrist.  It’s grip is firm enough to turn you, but weak enough that you slip away as soon as you meet his face. Aizawa watches you; his deep, deep, dark eyes are locked on to yours and he tries to speak, mouth open but nothing coming out. He tries again, then again, before clearing his voice and shaking his head.

“Let’s pretend things are good between us.” Aizawa says finally, watching the floor once again-- and you have this awful feeling that what he’s saying isn’t what he really wants to say. “For Mic’s sake.”

You nod, swallowing this down, a beat too long. 

“I’d like it if we were normal too.”

“Okay.” The door slides closed as Aizawa says:  “For you, then.”

[bombuni]

private lessons

summary: Professor Jeong is kind enough to help you with your assignments after-hours. genre/pairing: professor!yunho x student!reader, college au, smut wc: 1.8k warnings: SMUT MDNI, meandom!yunho, sub!fem!reader, risqué topic but they are both of age consenting adults, monster cock jeong yunho agenda, lil degradation, the use of ‘slut’, creampie bom note: bad day today and my brain went uooghhhh professor yunho backshots and it cheered me up so maybe this will cheer u up too

Professor Jeong is the kindest man you’ve met.

He’s quick to answer your questions and complement your work. He greets you every morning with a kind smile and a wave of his hand, glasses slipping down his nose as he scutters around with piles of papers in his gentle hands. He watches you a lot. It’s often you look up during a lesson and find that he’s already looking at you with a feeling you can’t quite name. You chalk it up to him keeping an eye on his star pupil.

It’s the beginning of the semester and you’re not sure how, but you’re already struggling. Professor Jeong, amazingly enough, immediately took notice of your slipping grades and offered extra help before you could even ask. Graciously, you accepted his invitation to discuss your latest assignment with him in his office. You don’t think much of it. Him personally inviting you to his office hours is completely normal.

Right?

His office smells like a coffee shop, oddly enough. It’s a cramped space with piles of papers everywhere, but you spot his brown head of hair behind his computer and knock on your way in.

He seems to light up at the sight of you, leaning back and stretching in his chair, “Good to see you, miss,” God, his white button-up shirt is impossibly tight, “I was hoping you’d show up. Most of my students bail.”

You shyly giggle at the boyish smile he gives you, “Well, I’m not like the rest of your students, Professor,” his veiny hands come up to fiddle with his tie, “And ‘miss’ makes me feel old.”

He chuckles quietly as he organizes the mess on his desk and beckons you to sit, “Well, I’ll refrain from calling you ‘miss’ if you call me Yunho instead. We’re practically the same age anyways. Deal?”

Yunho’s rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as he speaks to you, and it causes you to malfunction. All you can do is stare hungrily and unabashedly at his pale skin.

“Deal.”

Tongue poking his cheek, you watch as his eyes run over you. The smile he holds on his face is deceivingly sweet. He’s holding back from saying something, just barely, and you want to unravel whatever thread makes the thoughts in his head. You want to unravel the threads in his clothes the longer he watches you like prey too, but that’s neither here nor there.

Yunho seems to swallow his words for a moment, adam’s apple bobbing as he pretends to gather all of the necessary materials. In reality, he’s attempting to gather all the strength he has to ignore the purposeful cleavage you’re showing. He knows it’s inappropriate to glance, but is it really his fault when you’re so clearly putting on a show for him?

He looks at you over his glasses, eyebrows raised and smile cheeky, “Don’t you get cold?”

You feign innocence, etching confusion on your face and leaning in just close enough so he’ll catch a whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, “What ever do you mean, Yunho?”

A puff of air escapes his nostrils in disbelief. You’re very aware of what you’re doing to him. He removes his thin-wired glasses, soft eyes turning intimidating once you’re meeting them with zero layers. He tilts his head at you questioningly, slender hand cupping his chin in mock thought. Everything he does is unwittingly graceful, elegance in his nature.

“Did you really come here for help on your essay?” He asks tauntingly and softly.

You mirror him, “Don’t act like you don’t stare at me during lectures,”

He chuckles at you and leans back in his chair, “I don’t. Is that what you think?”

The pout on your face is enticingly cute, “Don’t lie, Yunho.”

“Are you calling your professor a liar?” He raises a brow at you and you shrink in your seat.

Yunho continues as he leans on his desk, eyes focused on you and glancing down every once in a while, “I stare because you’re a slut, sweetheart. You let everyone on campus see you like that?”

A blush blooms bright on your cheeks now and Yunho lets out a mocking giggle. He’s unfortunately got you pegged. In truth, you only revealed skin on days you knew you’d see Yunho. You’ve been preparing and fantasizing about him using you like his own fuck toy ever since the first day he stepped into the lecture hall. Now that it’s happening though, you fear you’re in over your own head.

You look down under his scrutinizing gaze, “N-no. Just you, I only dress like this for you.”

He hums, standing from his desk and walking over to your side. Even the sound of his footsteps is intimidating, echoing in the reaches of your mind and igniting a fire in your gut. You feel a warm hand on your chin, his slender fingers sending sparks where they touch your skin. He lifts your head to face him and you listen on instinct.

He wears a smirk now. Like he’s a mastermind who’s trapped you, “Prove it to me, sweetheart.”

You sit there frozen for a second, only staring up at Yunho as your brain fries. He tsk’s at you as he leads your hands towards his belt buckle. Once you understand and start unbuckling his belt, he smiles and pats your head. It only makes your mouth water more.

The cock that greets you when you finally unzip Yunho is comedically big. You look up at him with nervous doe eyes and he feels himself get harder. He runs a comforting hand through your hair, throbbing and hissing when he feels you lick a long stripe along the length of him. You keep teasing him like this, licking what you can and keeping your lips on his leaking tip before he decides he’s had enough.

He places both of his hands on the sides of your head, holding you on his cock, “Sluts don’t get to tease,” he forces you an inch down him, the wetness of your mouth clouding whatever resolve and restraint he has, “You just suck my cock. Got it, pretty girl?”

He feels you nod through the cock stuffed in your mouth. Yunho guides your mouth along as you try to take all of him in, tears welling in your eyes with every inch you take. Watching you struggle to take him has his mouth hanging open, beads of sweat falling from his forehead. It takes all he has not to fuck your pretty mouth stupid.

You get as far as you think you’ll be able to before you push off of him, leaving kisses on his pink cock and trailing saliva strings. Yunho slaps his cock tip on your tongue when you open your mouth upon request, feeling his ego swell when you obey to his every command. His very best student.

Yunho leans down to kiss you, messily and provocatively. He refuses to let you get any air, stealing any that you have as he holds you to his lips. He tastes himself on your tongue when he makes his way into your mouth, your body limp against him as you let him do what he wants.

He pants into your mouth, “We’re gonna train that pussy next,”

You whine and hold his wrists, still drowning in everything that is Yunho, “Y-yunho, what if someone walks in…?”

He separates from you, once again bringing a hand to your chin to force your attention on him, “Now the little sluts worried?” He pulls you up by your shoulders, turning you around and folding you onto his desk instantaneously, “I think you’d love it if someone walked in on your Professor stuffing you with his cock.”

You shake your head, denying the idea even though you can feel yourself dripping at the thought of someone seeing you like this. Yunho brings a hand down and under your skirt, rubbing your slit through your damp panties. Your pretty white panties, he finds as he lifts your skirt over your ass.

His voice sends chills down your spine as he leans in and whispers in your ear, putting all of his weight onto your back, “Don’t you feel yourself, princess? I’m gonna destroy this little pussy whether someone watches or not,”

He slides his cock along your panties, patience disappearing as slender fingers slide under the fabric to pull them aside. You feel him at your entrance, his precum and your slick mixing as he attempts to bottom out. The stretch is unbelievable, but for once you feel like you’ve had your fill. He has you breaking down, moaning, and toppling the stacks of papers on his desk when he’s not even fully in.

The metal desk is cold under your cheek and your fingertips, “‘S so big, Yunho,”

He chuckles at how broken you sound, “You can take it, sweetheart. Isn’t this what you came to my office for?”

“Y-yes! Yes!” He slides fully in, groaning at the way you suck him in and mold yourself around him. You’re leaking all over him. He pushes his bangs out of his face, sweat clinging to his skin as he holds your hips. Yunho waits for you to settle before finally moving. When he does, it feels like every nerve in your body has collected in your pussy. He raises your sensitivity to its maximum, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching around him filling his office.

He sets a quick pace, rhythmically slamming his hips into yours and moaning into your ear with every thrust, “You’re so tight for me, princess, fuck, you’re gonna drain me.”

His balls slap against your skin, pounding you over and over unforgivingly into his desk. He’s lost all sense of restraint. Yunho’s hips begin to stutter inside of you as his moans grow whinier, his forearm wrapping around the front of you. He holds you tightly against him before thrusting one last time and making sure to cum deep inside you. He jolts every couple of seconds, gently fucking his cum back inside of you. Yunho likes the feeling of marking you.

The cramped room is searingly hot now and smells of sex. You try to gather your bearings on Yunho’s desk, next to a printed copy of your own essay and his forgotten cup of coffee. You’ll be surprised if someone didn’t hear the two of you fucking like rabbits.

Yunho lifts himself off of you, letting your panties cover your pussy again. His cum and your slick mix again and a part of you is disgustingly proud to walk around like this, secretly knowing you belong to him.

He’s buckling his belt again, smiling like a shy love struck boy with red cheeks and sweaty forehead, “Same time next week?”