#alright time to tag the entire cast......

[sixeyesonathiel]

BITE YOUR TONGUE, I LIKE IT BETTER BLOODY

pairing: bully satoru x manipulative reader

synopsis — gojo satoru hates you. you smile too sweetly, lie too easily, and wear your innocence like armor. he’s known you forever—known how sharp your claws are beneath the lace. but no one else sees it. no one but him. and when he throws milk at your head in front of the whole cafeteria, he swears it’s just hate. but behind stairwells and bitten lips, hate starts to taste a lot like want.

tags: enemies with benefits, public humiliation, dubcon elements (consent is a blurry concept when you're both assholes), manipulation, obsession, power imbalance, mutual degradation, possessiveness, toxic dynamic, satoru is an asshole, reader is worse, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, swallowing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie. 5.8k wc, MDNI.

a/n: another very detailed explicit smut because you guys loved shy reader sucking the soul out of frat!gojo. no thoughts, just enemies rawdogging behind the gym stairs. plot? not here. soulmates? unfortunately. enjoy the filth before i drop my wordcount-heavy apothecary diaries au this week :3

satoru gojo despises your guts.

he makes sure you know it, too.

"oops," he says, voice dripping with false sympathy just before the milk carton arcs clean through the air and smacks the back of your head. it bursts on impact, cold and humiliating, soaking into your blouse and turning it nearly see-through. thin cotton clings to your skin—your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, the delicate outline of lace beneath. the chill bites into your nerves, crawling down your spine like a taunt.

there's a beat. the cafeteria shifts. chatter falters. a few heads turn. someone drops a fork.

you stiffen just for a second. one inhale held too long. then your hand rises to touch your hair, wet and dripping. you blink slowly, lashes damp, before pasting on the kind of smile reserved for misunderstandings and small kindnesses. your lips tremble—not from emotion, but as if suppressing laughter. like you’re charmed by the absurdity of it all.

"my hand slipped," satoru adds from behind, leaning one elbow on the table like he's bored. his tie's loose, shirt half untucked, and the sleeves rolled high enough to show veined forearms. his white hair falls just enough to cast a faint shadow over one eye. he grins, tongue pressing to his cheek, teeth catching on the corner of his lower lip like he's chewing the inside of it. there’s milk on his fingers. he wipes it on his slacks. "maybe don’t stand around like a target next time, princess."

he calls you that like it’s a slur.

someone snorts into their lunch tray. a few others glance up with vague concern, but not enough to intervene. not enough to think it's serious.

you turn with a lightness that's infuriating. wet hair clinging to your cheek, uniform plastered to your back. you look ridiculous—soaked and humiliated—and yet you smile. your fingers trail delicately down your blouse like you’re inspecting damage on fine silk.

"that’s alright, satoru," you say sweetly, as if he’d bumped into you in the hallway. your voice is soft, gentle as a hand on a child’s head. "you’ve always had poor coordination."

a few students murmur agreement. someone chuckles. the tension breaks. someone tosses a crumpled napkin toward the bin, missing it entirely.

but not for him.

he watches the twitch of your lip—the briefest break in the mask that no one else sees. no one but him. and that’s what drives him insane.

because he’s known you since kindergarten. known the tantrums, the fights, the scratches behind school buildings. he remembers how you’d corner some poor kid together—mocking, poking, stealing snacks—and how when the teacher showed up, you’d burst into tears and point at him with trembling fingers. he was the bad one. the instigator. the boy who made girls cry. even when your hands were just as dirty. maybe worse.

you’ve always been like this: clever, calculating, cruel in lace and smiles.

and he hates that no one sees it but him.

hates how you float through school like some porcelain saint. all soft glances and kindnesses, like you’re too sweet to harm a fly. how you apologize so readily, voice thick with false guilt. how even your sighs are delicate things, like spun sugar on the tongue.

but he knows. and he won’t let you forget that he knows.

you dab your temple with a napkin, offer a small bow to the room, then walk away. every step deliberate. he watches the way your skirt sways, the soft slap of your wet shoes, the curve of your back visible beneath the soaked fabric. it’s obscene. like you’re doing it on purpose. he knows you are.

his throat tightens. his pants do, too.

fuck.

he shifts, pressing his palm into the table edge to ground himself. his cock throbs anyway. he glances down, jaw ticking, leg bouncing under the table. his tongue flicks over his teeth. he rubs his thumb against the edge of the bench, imagining it’s your pulse.

he hates you.

he hates how every time you laugh, it turns heads. how nanami makes you smile in that quiet way that you don’t give him. how your voice turns feather-soft when you're being praised, how you say ��thank you” with bowed lashes and an angel’s lilt. how you look at others like you’re grateful they exist, and how you look at him like you’re grateful he’s suffering.

he hates that you let everyone believe you’re good.

and he hates that you are good—at lying. at playing them. at leaving him hard in the middle of class after pressing a note into his hand that simply read don’t forget to beg.

he still has that note. it’s tucked into the back of his physics notebook, creased and fingerprint-smudged. he looked at it three times yesterday. once during morning announcements. once after gym. once when you passed him a pencil and your fingers brushed.

he’s not even close to done.

not when you keep pushing him to the edge with every infuriating smile, every light laugh shared with someone else. not when your lip gloss tastes like strawberries, and he knows because he tasted it once. in a stairwell. two weeks ago. you kissed him like it meant nothing. then walked away before he could say a word.

he hates you.

and he wants you so fucking bad it makes him sick.

later, behind the gym stairwell—where the walls reek of sweat, rubber soles, and old water—you find him.

there's a hum in the silence, the kind that rings inside your skull. your footsteps echo first, then stop. only the hush of your breath now, quiet and deliberate, like a secret begging to be found. 

he’s already there—slouched against the wall like he’s waiting for something violent. one leg bent, heel hooked behind him, the other stretched out, foot tapping a restless beat against the cracked concrete.

he’s still in his uniform, shirt untucked, collar damp with sweat. the sleeves are rolled up, exposing long forearms slick with effort. his knuckles are red from earlier. a faint bruise darkens near his jaw from sparring. pale strands messily raked back like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. sunglasses gone. his eyes, sharp as cut glass, track your approach with slow disdain.

you take him in, shamelessly running your gaze from his tousled hair to the veins snaking up his forearms, the taut muscles in his chest straining against the fabric of his shirt. your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the subtle flex of his neck, and you feel the heat in your own chest rise at the sight.

something about the way he looks—disheveled, dangerous, and all too aware of his own effect on you—sends a pulse of heat straight through your veins.

he pops a pink lollipop from his mouth, tongue dragging lazily over it before he crushes it between his teeth. the sound snaps the tension like a whip.

“you’re hard,” you murmur, voice syrupy-sweet, almost innocent. almost.

he doesn’t flinch, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. his eyes drop—low, deliberate—then crawl back up your body like a threat, heat simmering beneath his gaze. his lips part, then press together tight, as if reining something in.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, but his voice cracks—taut and ragged, like it’s been dragged through too many thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

you tilt your head, lips curling into something too tender to be kind. “too late,” you coo. “you threw milk at my head and came in your pants about it.”

you look pristine—hair ribboned neatly, lip gloss shimmering under the harsh light, skin flawless like lacquered porcelain. beautiful. breakable. except your eyes gleam with something wicked, mean little stars dancing in a galaxy made just for him.

his fists clench at his sides. one thigh shifts, an involuntary twitch. he breathes out too sharp through his nose, like trying to exhale the want.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” he bites, but his voice stumbles on the edge of something more desperate, less controlled.

you only smile wider, slow and knowing, lashes fluttering as you step forward and then lower yourself to your knees. not in surrender. never that. it’s worship with teeth—dangerous, deliberate. your skirts spread around you like spilled sin. the way you look up at him is reverent and ruinous.

his entire body tightens, chest rising like he’s been starved of oxygen. the bulge in his pants throbs with restraint. his hand flinches at his side, like he’s debating whether to reach for you or himself.

you reach first.

he snatches your wrist mid-motion, fingers locking around your pulse with bruising pressure. his touch is trembling, barely keeping it together. his pupils are blown wide, breath shuddering.

you tilt your head, all mock-concern. your voice is honey-laced poison. “you gonna cry?” you whisper. “go on, satoru. tell them i bullied you.”

his lip curls—not quite a smirk, not quite a snarl. a flash of teeth, predatory and unsure. “you’re not in control.”

“then prove it.”

you move slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the buckle of his belt, the leather cool and smooth under your touch. the scrape of it sliding free pierces the stairwell’s silence, sharp as a blade, bouncing off the concrete like a warning. your knuckles graze the taut fabric of his pants, a fleeting brush that draws a quick, jagged breath from him, raw and unguarded. he’s already throbbing, his cock straining against the material, a dark stain spreading where precum seeps through.

your fingertips linger, pressing just enough to feel the heat pouring off him, the pulse of his desire thrumming against your skin. his legs stiffen, muscles coiling under his slacks, and his hands flex at his sides, curling into loose fists before easing, like he’s wrestling with the urge to touch you.

when you free him, easing the zipper down with a slo I'mw, intentional drag, his cock springs out, flushed a furious red, veins stark, the tip glossy with precum that beads and drips, catching the dim fluorescent light. satoru hisses, shoulders curling inward, the motion abrupt, like he’s been struck. his jaw locks, a tendon pulsing under the skin, and his throat works as he swallows hard, the motion visible. his ice-blue eyes flick down to you, pupils dilated, but they skitter away—to the wall, the ceiling—like he’s dodging your gaze, afraid of what it might cost him to linger.

“pathetic,” you murmur, voice low, barely above a whisper, laced with venom. your hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingers coated in his precum, gripping just enough to make him jerk, a ripple coursing through his frame. you don’t say more—words feel redundant, your focus honed on the weight of him in your palm, the feverish heat, the way he pulses under your touch.

his hand darts to your hair, fingers knotting in the strands, tugging your head back with a force that steals your breath, throat exposed to the cool air. “watch it,” he growls, voice guttural, scraping like he’s dragging it over broken glass.

and yet his thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting, unsteady graze, soft against the snarl. his hips inch forward, cock nudging closer to your lips, needy, unguarded. his other hand clamps onto the wall behind him, knuckles paling, nails gouging the chipped paint. his chest heaves unevenly, shirt stretching across his pecs, sweat beading at the base of his throat, catching the light.

you don’t respond. your lips curve into a faint, wicked smile, eyes fixed on his cock, hunger consuming you. your tongue darts out, barely skimming the head—a cruel, calculated tease that sends a jolt through him, his legs quivering under the strain.

his reaction is instant, a choked, guttural sound ripping from his throat, raw and fractured. his head snaps back against the concrete, the dull thud echoing, white hair glinting as it spills messily over his eyes. his jaw tightens, lips parting, tongue pressing to his palate like he’s swallowing a curse. his eyes snap shut briefly, lashes stark against his flushed cheeks, then flare open, wild and unfocused, pupils swallowing the blue.

then you start.

your lips part around him, slow, reverent yet vicious, like a predator savoring its prey. you take him inch by inch, tongue gliding along the thick vein with a greed that borders on fixation. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down his shaft, coating him in a glossy sheen. your hand moves in rhythm, fingers gripping tight, sliding through the mess of precum and saliva, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet stairwell.

you’re consumed, barely pausing for air, lips stretching around his girth, tongue circling the sensitive tip with relentless precision. no words—just the sloppy cadence of your mouth, a low, hungry hum in your throat as you draw him deeper, ravenous. your eyes flick up, catching his chest heaving, abs contracting with every jolt, his fingers tightening in your hair, tugging just enough to sting before they waver, grazing your scalp.

he struggles to breathe, chest rising and falling in fits and starts, shirt plastered to his sweat-damp skin, collar creased and damp. his fingers in your hair flex, then slacken, like he’s battling the urge to steer you. “fuck—fuck—” he chokes, voice splintering, no coherent words, just raw, desperate noise.

his hips jerk, a small, involuntary thrust pushing him deeper into your mouth, and you hum again, the vibration tearing through him. his head tilts back, throat bared, adam’s apple jumping as he swallows hard, a low groan slipping free. his other hand scrapes the wall, nails clawing at the concrete, leaving faint scratches.

you don’t taunt. your focus is absolute, lips gliding over him, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, slick with saliva and precum. your free hand grips his thigh, nails sinking into the taut muscle, feeling it tense under your touch. saliva drips from your chin, staining his slacks, leaving dark, wet patches.

you take him deeper, throat constricting around him, and he bucks, a sharp, fractured sound bursting from his lips, hips twitching again. your eyes dart up, catching his face contorting—brows furrowed, lips parted, sweat tracing a path down his temple, snagging in his pale hair.

and then he’s coming. too soon, too overwhelming, hot and thick down your throat. you swallow with purpose, slow, deliberate, letting him feel the tight grip of your throat, savoring every pulse, every drop, like you’re claiming him entirely. spit and cum mingle, dripping from your lips, coating your chin in a glossy, obscene mess that catches the dim light. his knees soften, a faint quake in his legs, and his hand in your hair tightens briefly, then releases, fingers quaking as they slide to your jaw.

but you don’t stop.

your mouth keeps working, merciless, lips gliding over his oversensitive cock, tongue swirling with unyielding hunger. your hand strokes the base, slick with his release, relentless, pulling him into a haze of overstimulation. he gasps, nerves raw, eyes snapping open, wide and glassy, pupils blown to hell. “stop—fuck—please—” he chokes, voice shattered, hands fumbling at your shoulders, fingers flexing like he’s torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. his legs quiver, muscles twitching under your palms, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts, catching in his throat.

you don’t answer. your lips tighten around him, sucking harder, tongue pressing against the sensitive head, coated in the remnants of his release. he jerks, a raw, humiliating sound scraping from his throat, body betraying him as his cock pulses again. his head tips forward, chin against his chest, eyes squeezing shut, lips quivering as he tries to breathe through it. his fingers press into your shoulders, leaving faint marks, and his other hand braces against the wall, knuckles pale, nails digging into the concrete.

and he breaks again, release spilling over your lips, hot and messy, dripping down your chin in glistening trails. he groans, deep and guttural, the sound echoing like a confession. his legs falter, knees nearly buckling, his breath shallow and jagged, a man unraveling.

you lick him clean, slow, deliberate, relishing the salt and heat, the way his skin jumps under your tongue. his hand in your hair slips away, fingers quaking, settling on your neck, lingering like he needs your pulse to anchor him.

you pull back at last, lips swollen, chin slick with his mess, and look up. he’s ruined—pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, sweat beading at his hairline, pale strands plastered to his forehead. his chest surges, shirt clinging to his damp skin, top button undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.

“thought you hated me,” you murmur, voice soft but cutting, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, the motion slow, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “thought you were stronger than this.”

he glares down at you, breathless, lips parted, tongue grazing his palate like he’s chewing on a retort. “you—fucking—bitch,” he rasps, voice raw, barely holding together, but his eyes betray him, lingering on your lips, the glossy shine of his cum on your chin, staring too long.

you climb into his lap, slow and deliberate, letting your weight settle against him, your soaked panties beneath your skirt dragging against his thigh with obscene friction.

he groans, low and fractured, his cock stirring again, the tip brushing your stomach, leaving a faint smear of precum. his eyes drop to the dark, wet patch on your underwear, and something in him snaps—his jaw tightens and his fingers press into your hips, hard enough to leave marks.

“soaked,” he mutters, voice hoarse, reverent, like he’s cursing a god. his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his gaze lifts to yours, dark and ravenous, holding eye contact briefly before dropping again, like he can’t resist. “you fucking get off on breaking me, don’t you?”

“maybe i do,” you whisper, voice silk and poison, leaning in until your lips brush his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “maybe i’ve been getting off on it since we were kids. maybe i knew you’d fold the second i got my hands on you.”

his hands seize your hips, fingers sinking in like he’s bracing against a storm. he pulls you down hard against his thigh, and you gasp, sharp and high, hips rocking instinctively, chasing the searing friction.

your breath catches, a flicker of weakness crossing your face—lips parting, eyes half-lidded for a moment, fingers clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt. he catches it, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, lips twitching into a faint, predatory smirk.

“don’t act like you’re any better,” satoru snaps, voice low and ragged, almost a growl. his hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the curve of your ribs, lingering like he’s memorizing you. “you’re dripping like a fucking slut. you’d crawl for this cock if i let you.”

“i don’t crawl,” you hiss, but your voice wavers, betraying the heat pooling in your core, the way your legs press around his. your fingers tighten on his shoulders, gripping the fabric.

“oh, you will,” he says, dark and certain, his hand slipping beneath your panties like he owns you. two fingers slide inside, curling deep, and you choke, walls gripping him, slick and eager. his thumb circles your clit, tight and practiced, and your hips buck before you can stop them, a soft whimper escaping. his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, daring you to look away first.

he flips you with a force that steals your breath, your back slamming against the cold concrete wall, the chill biting into your spine. your hands scramble, nails raking his shoulders, leaving red lines through his shirt. his cock presses against your entrance, slick with your arousal, hot and pulsing, and you shiver, a soft moan slipping free despite yourself.

your eyes half-close, lips quivering, a fleeting vulnerability crossing your face, your breath hitching as you press your teeth into your lower lip.

“don’t,” you warn, voice thin, fraying at the edges, barely holding together. it’s too much—the way he fills the air, the way his touch sears, the way you want him even as you hate him. your chest tightens, fingers twisting into his shirt, gripping the fabric, a nervous reflex betraying the chaos inside you.

he ignores you. adjusts your hips, pins you there like a specimen, his hands bruising, possessive. “you wanted this,” he snarls, voice thick with need, his lips brushing your jaw, teeth grazing the skin. “you fucking earned it.”

and he pushes in.

slow, devastating, stretching you inch by inch, balls deep, his hips flush against yours. you both groan—low, rough, animalistic. your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper, heels pressing into his lower back. your arms lock around his neck, nails carving crescent moons into his skin.

his face buries in the crook of your shoulder, breath hot and uneven, teeth grazing your collarbone, a faint scrape that sends a jolt through you. his tongue traces the salt of your skin, lips lingering, marking you.

satoru moves with purpose, every thrust a war cry, deep and unyielding. the sound of skin meeting skin echoes like thunder, mingling with your gasps, his grunts, the slick rhythm of your bodies.

your moans grow loud—too loud—and you bite your lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, trying to silence them. his hips drive forward, each thrust measured but forceful, his cock striking deep, making your walls grip him. his breath is ragged, puffing against your neck, and his fingers press into your hips, leaving marks that will darken by morning.

then—footsteps.

heavy, uneven, echoing from the top of the stairwell. a shadow flickers across the wall as the door creaks above, the sound sharp and jarring. your heart surges, panic flaring, eyes darting to the stairs, wide and glassy. but satoru doesn’t stop. his cock plunges deeper, harder, balls deep with every thrust, the wet rhythm of his hips against yours brazen in the silence.

you bite your hand, teeth sinking into your palm, muffling the moan clawing up your throat. your other hand grips his shoulder, nails biting in, and your legs quiver, trying to close, but his hips keep them spread.

“satoru—someone’s—” you whisper, voice frantic, barely audible, your eyes flicking to the stairs again, where the shadow lingers. your breath catches, a sharp, unsteady inhale, and your fingers twist into his shirt.

“let them see,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, voice low and vicious, dripping with cruelty. “fuck, you’re so pretty like this—look at you, no fake saint act, just my filthy little whore, taking me so fucking deep.” his words are condescending, but there’s a raw, genuine edge, like he’s seeing you for the first time, stripped of pretense, and it cuts deeper than his thrusts.

his eyes lock on yours, unblinking, pupils blown wide, and his lips twitch into a faint, predatory smirk. “you’re beautiful when you’re real,” he murmurs, voice dipping, almost soft, but the cruelty in it stings, exposing you. “no mask, no lies, just you, stuffed full of my cock.”

your body betrays you, walls gripping him tighter, pleasure surging despite the shame. the footsteps pause, a muffled voice calling out, “anyone down there?” and your heart pounds, but satoru’s thrusts intensify, more punishing, his cock filling you so completely it’s overwhelming.

you press your hand tighter over your mouth, eyes stinging, teeth digging deeper into your knuckles to stifle the sobs of pleasure. your hips jerk against him despite yourself, chasing the high. the voice mutters something vague, and you pray they leave, pray they don’t see you—legs spread, panties shoved aside, satoru’s cock buried deep, your body quaking with the effort to stay silent.

“shh,” he mocks, thrusting deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your walls tightening around him. “don’t let them hear you, princess. wouldn’t want your worshippers to see you like this, would you? their perfect little saint, fucked stupid by the guy she hates, creaming all over my cock like a desperate slut.” his voice is low, taunting, and his hand slides to your throat, not squeezing, just resting, his thumb tracing your pulse, feeling it race. his eyes flick to your lips, to the way your teeth sink into your knuckles, and he smirks, slow and cruel.

you whimper, shame and pleasure twisting into a tight knot in your core. your hips buck against him, a tear slipping free, catching on your lashes. the footsteps linger, the shadow still hovering, and his hips drive forward, relentless, the slick rhythm of your bodies louder now, brazen, and you bite down harder, tasting blood, trying to lock the moans in your throat.

“you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” satoru murmurs, voice dipping low, almost reverent, but laced with venom. “no pretending, no bullshit. just you, taking me like you were born for it.” the praise is cruel, so genuine it burns, and your walls tighten around him, a soft, broken sound escaping despite your efforts. his eyes soften for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something raw, before they darken again, holding your gaze like a challenge.

the footsteps fade, the door creaking shut, and you exhale, the sound shaky in the air. but the relief is fleeting—satoru’s hand tightens on your throat, just enough to feel your pulse leap, and his cock drives deeper, unyielding.

“you love this,” he sneers, hips snapping harder, making you gasp. “you love being my dirty little secret, don’t you? look at you, clenching around me like you can’t get enough. like the greedy spoiled brat you really are.”

your breath hitches. “i don’t—” the protest dies halfway, strangled by a moan as he thrusts deep and just right, catching that devastating spot inside you. your fingers dig into his shoulder, nails biting through the fabric. your mouth parts, trying to form words that won’t come.

“harder,” you plead, voice breathless, fraying at the edges, a crack in your control. it’s a moment of weakness, raw and exposed, your lips trembling, eyes half-closing as you press your teeth into your lower lip, trying to anchor yourself. satoru catches it, his smirk widening, eyes glinting with triumph, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, as though he can taste your surrender.

satoru gives it to you.

fucks you like it’s the only language he knows, like every thrust is a sharp syllable, every moan a desperate rebuttal. your bodies argue in heat and rhythm, friction and breath. his hips drive forward like a point he's determined to make—over and over, merciless and unrelenting, a cruel kind of eloquence.

it’s not love, but it’s the only way either of you knows how to say stay.

his cock fills you, thick and unyielding, stretching you with every measured thrust, the head grazing your walls, slick with your arousal. the wet rhythm of your bodies colliding echoes, brazen, mingling with the uneven huff of his breath against your neck. his hips surge forward, balls deep, the coarse hair at his base brushing your sensitive skin, sending a spark through your core.

your walls tighten around him, eager, possessive, and he hisses, a sharp, involuntary sound, his jaw locking, a tendon pulsing under his flushed cheek. his fingers press into your hips, bruising, and his eyes flick to yours for a fleeting moment—wild, glassy, pupils blown—before darting away, like he’s dodging the truth.

your body gives out first. the coil inside you snaps, and your spine arches like a drawn bowstring, fingers clawing down his back, leaving angry red trails. your mouth opens, but no sound escapes—just a broken little gasp, sharp and cut off like a secret you never meant to confess. pleasure floods you, white-hot and overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs.

your legs shake, heels pressing hard against his back like you’re anchoring him inside, keeping him close, keeping him real. your brows furrow, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted in a quivering o that never forms a word. your walls pulse around him, slick with your release, a faint sheen coating his cock as he eases back slightly, the sight drawing a low, guttural sound from his chest.

a sob claws up your throat, half-stifled by your palm. your other hand scrabbles for purchase, nails sinking into his skin, and he groans at the sting, at the way your body fights to hold him even as it unravels. his legs tense under yours, muscles coiling, and his tongue grazes his lips, a quick, unconscious flick.

his cock twitches inside you, heavy and hot, filling you to the point of ache. saliva gathers at the corner of your mouth, a thin trail sliding down your chin, mingling with the sweat beading at your throat. his eyes catch it, lingering on the messy shine, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard, his grip on your hip tightening.

he follows not long after.

his body stiffens, chest pressing flush to yours, a quake running through him like a snapped wire. his eyes flutter shut for a second, lashes quivering, and your name spills from his lips—hoarse, cracked, reverent, like prayer and curse in one.

satoru spills into you, deep and pulsing, his release hot and thick, filling you until it leaks out, a slick trail tracing down your thighs, pooling on the concrete below. his breath breaks against your neck, coming in short, ragged bursts, and his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth grazing the damp skin, more mark than bite. it lingers, a claiming, a confession he can't say aloud.

his fingers flex on your hips, then loosen, only to tighten again, like he’s afraid to let go. his eyes open, locking on yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he jerks his gaze away, jaw tightening.

but satoru doesn’t stop.

he should.

you’re shaking beneath him, overstimulated, your breath hitching in choked hiccups. but he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through the comedown, through the soft sounds you make—half-cries, half-whimpers—through the desperate grip of your spent muscles.

his rhythm falters but persists, each thrust carving a space where only he fits, like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he slows. his cock drags against your sensitive walls, slick with cum and arousal, the sound wet and relentless, filling the stairwell. your legs quiver, heels digging into his lower back, and your hand clutches his shoulder, nails leaving faint red crescents.

your other hand presses harder against your mouth, teeth biting into your palm to muffle the sounds you can’t contain. his breath sears your neck, puffing in uneven bursts, and his lips graze your collarbone, leaving a faint trail of saliva that cools on your skin.

“hate you,” he snarls, voice wrecked, raw and shaking. his hips snap forward again, sharp and deep, his cock driving into you with a force that makes your walls clench, a soft, broken whimper escaping your lips. his forehead presses to yours for one trembling second, eyes locked on yours—wide, wild, panicked—like a man holding his breath underwater.

his tongue flicks out again, wetting his lips, and his fingers flex against your hips, a faint tremor in his hands. his thrusts are relentless, each one deliberate, measured, but forceful, the head of his cock hitting deep, making your breath catch in sharp, stuttering gasps.

your eyes flutter, dazed and glossy, lashes clinging to damp skin. your mouth opens, but nothing comes—only the broken breath of someone who should say stop but can’t.

you’re still trembling, thighs clenching unconsciously around him, breath shallow and uneven. your walls flutter around his cock, slick with the mess of your release and his, and a faint, wet trail drips down your inner thigh, pooling on the floor.

he shamelessly drinks in the sight and jerks his gaze away like it burns him, like he’s afraid of what he’ll see—afraid that if he keeps his eyes on you too long, he’ll realize he’s not angry at you at all. his jaw clenches, a muscle ticking under the skin, and his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek.

his hips stutter, just for a moment, but he keeps going, thrusting deep, the wet squelch of your bodies louder now, a rhythmic, obscene echo. his fingers dig into your hips, bruising, and his breath puffs against your neck, hot and uneven, a faint groan slipping free as your walls clench around him again.

he’s angry at how much he wants you to stay.

and how terrified he is that you will.

“you’re such a bad liar,” you breathe, ragged, voice barely there, lips trembling as you speak. “you beg like you worship me.”

“does that make you think you’ve won?” he growls, thrusting harder, making you gasp, your head tipping back against the wall. “you’re way delusional than i thought. you’re just as fucked as i am, princess. look at you—cumming on my cock like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you clench again, a weak, desperate moan slipping free, and he groans, cock twitching inside you. your lips crash into his, messy, obscene, tongues tangling, teeth biting. his blood is in your mouth, sharp and metallic, and yours is on his tongue, a shared wound.

the stairwell reeks of sweat, sex, and something sacred, your ribbon lost somewhere on the floor, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin, wrinkled and damp. your eyes meet—unfocused, wild, wrecked—holding for a moment before you both look away, like the truth is too much.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice raw, lips trembling as he speaks, his eyes flicking to your lips, lingering there. his fingers loosen on your hips, then tighten again, like he can’t decide whether to let go.

“good,” you whisper, lips brushing his, still trembling from the aftershocks, your breath puffing against his mouth. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. maybe in front of a mirror. i want you to see how pathetic you look when you’re begging.” your voice dips, soft but cutting.

he doesn’t reply, but his hips roll into you one last time, slow, deliberate, like punctuation. his mouth catches your gasp, fingers tightening on your skin, and his eyes hold yours for a moment—wild, raw, unguarded—before he looks away, tongue pressing to his cheek again. you know neither of you will ever forget.

“this meant nothing,” he rasps, voice rough around the edges, lips twitching like he almost regrets saying it. his hands flex on your hips, like he can’t decide whether to let go or keep holding on.

“good,” you murmur, breath brushing his mouth, still winded. “then we’re doing it again tomorrow. in front of a mirror this time. i want you to see how desperate you get.” your voice is calm, cruel, intimate. your fingers smooth down his chest—tidying what you ruined.

he doesn’t respond.

instead, he leans in and steals a kiss—quick, hard, teeth clashing. like he can’t help himself. like he needs one last hit before he walks away. it’s messy and angry and not meant to linger, but it does.

his mouth hovers just a second longer than it should. your breath catches.

then he pulls back, silent, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. like he’s already thinking about next time.

[mssorceressupreme]

Truth or Dare | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Fred realises his true feelings for you once you are dared to french kiss George during a round of truth or dare. Draco then forces you to kiss him instead, which only results in a brawl. You then take Fred back to the common room and help clean his wounds.

Warnings/tags: violence/fighting, jealous!fred, kissing, non-con touch, Draco being a git (sorry malfoy lovers 😭), cleaning wounds after a fight trope, reader isn't in a specified house here, spicy ending (if u squint)

———

The Ravenclaw common room had never seen a gathering quite like this. The enchanted blue flames flickered in the fireplace, casting a radiant glow over the room, which today, was packed with students from all four houses.

Luna had invited everyone over, claiming that a “spontaneous social gathering” would be a great way to pass the time and forget about your studies for a while.

The usual gryffindor group, Cedric and some hufflepuffs, the slytherin trio and Cho, all decided to partake in this gathering.

And so, there you all were, sitting in a large, chaotic circle on the floor, playing a game of truth or dare that had long spiralled out of control.

The rules were simple: if you refused a dare or a truth, you had to take Veritaserum and spill your deepest, darkest secret in front of everyone. No one wanted to risk that.

So far, Harry had been dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the room, which led to him—rather sheepishly—kissing Ginny, earning a gag from Ron. But moments later, Ron found himself a stuttering mess when Hermione had been dared to sit on his lap for two rounds, her face burning red while he struggled to keep his cool.

Neville, poor thing, had been forced to recount an embarrassing moment where he tripped down an entire staircase in front of his crush, which turned out alright anyway because they went to Madam Pomfrey together and spent the whole day chatting.

And now, it was your turn.

Draco, who sat beside you, leaned in with a smug grin. “Alright Y/N, let’s make this interesting,” he drawled. “I dare you to French kiss the person sitting across from you.”

You turned your head, your stomach flipping.

And there sat George Weasley, grinning at you like he had already won.

The room erupted into cheers, and George wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Well, Y/N, I won’t say no,” he teased, leaning back on his hands.

Your heart sank a little—not because George was a bad choice, but because you wished it was his twin instead.

Still, rules were rules.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and took slow tentative steps across the large circle, kneeling in front of George. “Alright Georgie, just get it over with,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

George chuckled. “Hey! At least pretend to be excited.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling lightly, before leaning in, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back easily, bringing a hand to your neck, letting it linger a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, flustered.

George gave you a grin then winked, and you smiled back. He was one of your closest friends, after all; teasing you came naturally to him.

"Okay that's done!" Flustered, you rose up and hurried back to your spot next to Draco.

"You guys are adorable." Cho, who was sitting on the other side of you, nudged you gently, and you laughed nervously.

Sure, George was handsome, humorous, and kind, but he wasn't Fred. To most people, they were pretty much the same person, two halves of a whole, but to you, it was different. There was something about Fred that you saw differently.

Speaking of Fred, you shot a quick glance in his direction, curious as to his whole reaction regarding the scene that just unfolded.

Fred hadn’t said a word.

He sat stiffly, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at his twin. Something in his chest twisted when he saw George’s smug grin.

But it wasn't entirely George's fault. You see, no one knew of Fred's secret crush on you. Would you call it a crush? Man, feelings were a complicated mystery to Fred, he never bothered going down that lane, it was foreign to him. Best avoid all that sappy stuff, y'know.

Draco, however, was unimpressed. “That was pathetic,” he scoffed, leaning closer to you. “You call that a French kiss? It had to be longer.”

You folded your arms, tilting your head to the side. “You didn’t even say how long.”

Draco smirked. “Fine, then, two minutes. You can do it on me instead. Save you the hassle of walking over there again."

The room let out a collective “ooooh,” and your stomach churned.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Crabbe, Goyle and Dean chanted.

"Wha—I already did the dare!" You countered, raising your hands in defence.

"Hmm now that Draco mentioned it, it was a bit of a short kiss, barely a French kiss, more like a Portuguese kiss." Lee agreed, resting his hand on his chin.

"Portuguese kiss? That's not even a thing you git." Angelina chortled, throwing her head back.

Before you could react, Draco leaned in slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers barely grazed your cheek, but it was enough to make you shift uncomfortably. He patted your head, smiling like he was doing you some kind of favour.

You didn’t like it.

But Draco was your friend, and this was supposed to be fun, so you ignored it. You didn't want to ruin the mood for everyone so you forced yourself to tolerate it.

Fred, however, wasn’t ignoring it.

His hand was clenched into a tight fist in his lap, and his usually mischievous eyes were laced with something entirely different.

Draco leaned in again, wrapping one arm around you. “Come on, then,” he murmured, his smirk widening. “Or do you want the Veritaserum?”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You didn’t want to kiss him. But you definitely didn’t want to take the serum, either.

Draco took your hesitation as an invitation. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

The crowd cheered again, urging you on.

Draco removed his arm then ruffled your hair slightly, "Don't be a wuss, I'll make it enjoyable for ya."

"Don't be scared Y/N, it's only a kiss!" Seamus encouraged, hoping to make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse.

Only a kiss? You wanted to save french kissing for someone special, not some ridiculous dare.

Draco leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hand brushed against your arm, he was so close that you could now smell his fresh scent. You leaned back instinctively, smiling awkwardly while brushing your arm.

Everyone was so caught up encouraging the two of you to kiss that no one paid attention to the speed at which Fred stood up from the floor and bolted to Draco, tackling him harshly.

A collective gasp echoed through the room as the two of them crashed onto the floor. Draco barely had time to react before Fred punched him, his face twisted in pure rage. The two of them were now in a brawl, wrestling each other on the ground. It was clear that no one was going easy on each other.

“Keep your hands off her,” Fred snapped, his voice low and furious.

Draco, stunned for only a second, sneered up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Fred! Oi! Stop, it's just a game!" Lee's attempt at stopping Fred with his words was useless.

Fred wasn’t listening. His fists clenched, his breathing heavy as he pinned Draco down, gripping his shirt harshly.

Draco’s smirk returned. “Merlin, are you jealous Weasley?”

Fred loosened his grip, blinking slowly, "I..."

"Called it. Bet you wished it was you getting to french kiss Y/N then. Why don't you let me finish my dare with her so I can show you how it's done eh?" Draco remarked, all too obnoxiously for Fred's liking.

Fred's eyes grew darker, laced with furiousness.

He lunged again, and in a matter of seconds, they were full-on fighting.

Gasps and shouts filled the room as they tumbled, fists flying, knocking over a pile of books and scattering cards from an abandoned wizarding chess game. The flood thudded heavily, as they continued their wrestling.

“Fred! Draco! Stop!” Voices pleaded, but they were drowned out as Fred was blinded by rage. How dare Draco force himself onto you like that?!

No one listened.

You watched them in pure horror as they fought; you joined the others in yelling at them to stop, but none of them listened.

Hermione immediately went to comfort you, placing a comforting hand on your arm and sending you an apologetic look. Was this all because of you? You felt like shit for causing this, bloody hell, you should've just french kissed Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, stop!” George tried pulling his twin back, but Fred shook him off, shoving him away.

Cedric attempted to pull Draco off Fred, but Draco pushed him aside, scoffing, "Not now Diggory!"

Draco, despite being an arrogant prat, was also a decent fighter, and he managed to shove Fred back, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

“What the hell?!” you finally yelled, eyes darting from Fred to Draco.

Fred froze.

His furious gaze met yours, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he wiped some blood off his lips.

He swallowed hard. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out of the common room.

You hesitated only a second before running after him.

—

You found him on the astronomy tower balcony, leaning against the railing, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

The night air was cold, but Fred’s skin was burning.

You took a deep breath. “Fred—”

“Why don’t you go check on Draco?” he cut in sharply. “Or George. Your boyfriends.”

Your brows furrowed. “They’re not my boyfriends. You're being ridiculous now.”

Fred let out a short, humourless laugh. “Really? You were getting pretty cozy with George back there.”

You sighed. “It was a dare, Fred.”

“Oh, and Draco just happened to be all over you?” He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw it—his bruised lip, the cut on his cheekbone, the faint traces of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, I know we're friends but I can handle myself." You assumed he was being protective as a friend, so you attempted comforting him, but failed miserably at doing so.

"Yeah, friends." He pressed his lips together.

You took a step closer wanting to reach up, but Fred’s eyes flickered elsewhere. “Don’t.”

You froze.

“I don’t need you feeling bad for me,” he muttered, turning back to the railing. His grip tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Fred,” you said softly.

Silence stretched between you. The wind howled through the tower, whipping his hair slightly, but Fred didn’t move.

Your gaze drifted to his hands. His knuckles were raw, bruised from the fight.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently prying one of his fists open. He held his breath, glancing down at you.

Your fingers traced the swelling on his knuckles, your touch featherlight. “We need to clean this up.”

Fred didn’t protest. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, watching you. He released his breath, silently agreeing.

Wordlessly, you pulled his hand in yours, leading him down the spiral staircase, away from the cold, away from the fight, away from everyone else.

—

The fire crackled softly in the Gryffindor common room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The common room was empty—everyone was either asleep or still in the Ravenclaw tower, talking about what had happened.

Fred sat on the couch, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly downward. He hadn’t said much since you dragged him back.

You returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth and knelt in front of him.

“Hold still,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the dried blood on his lip.

Fred flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. He just watched you, his hazel eyes unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something, awe, perhaps. His eyes studied yours, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you focused on cleaning his wounds. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, you were the epitome of beauty in his eyes, a darling angel.

You focused on cleaning him up, biting your lip. The silence between you was begging to be broken, heavy with something left unsaid. But you chose to ignore it, shifting your focus to getting Fred cleaned up. You see, it was the way you were always so caring towards everyone, so kind, always selflessly giving your time away to help those who needed it. That was part of the reason Fred had fallen for you in the first place, your kindness.

Fred exhaled sharply as you pressed on his wound.

"Sorry..." you mutter, but he gently removed your arm, and rested it on his knee.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” he said suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him. “Stop what?”

He let out a cheerless laugh. “This. You. Making me feel like a complete idiot.”

Your heart pace increased. “I—”

“Do you know what it’s like?” His voice was raw, unfiltered, a slight rasp as he spoke softly. “Watching you? Seeing every guy in that room touch you? Kiss you?” He shook his head. “I nearly lost my mind.”

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Never thought I'd admit it, but I’ve wanted you,” his voice low, almost trembling. “For so long, and I—” He broke off, exhaling harshly. “And then tonight, I had to sit there and watch it. Merlin, it drove me so bloody mad.”

Your hands were shaking. Was this it? The Fred you never thought would ever return your feelings, about to spew the words right out?

Fred’s eyes locked onto yours, something desperate behind this gaze.

“I hate that you don’t see it,” he muttered.

“See what?” you breathed.

His lips parted, and for a second, he hesitated.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught, inhaling as you paused.

Fred let out a rough laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Godric, I love you. I don’t just like you, I love you. And it kills me because I know you don’t feel the same way so I just thought I'd keep it to myself but here we are."

Your heartbeat felt as though it was pounding loud enough to wake up the whole dorm.

“You idiot,” you whispered.

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You idiot,” you repeated, your voice shaking. Then, before he could react, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his with all the emotion you've held back, the words you've been dying to say to him.

It was nothing like the kiss with George.

This was everything.

Fred let out a soft, startled sound before his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. His lips moved against yours, desperate, breathless. He kissed you like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know how much he meant it.

And you did.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, getting up from kneeling and he pulled you onto his lap, now straddling him in the common room, to which you were thankful that no one was around.

A soft moan escaped you, as he sucked on your lower lip, your hands tangled themselves in his fluffy hair, tugging lightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Fred let out a quiet, shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You better.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, kissing him again as if there was no tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss, desperately needing a round two with you, his Y/N.

[rafedarling]

Hai rafedarling,

I had an idea of reader visiting the set of Outer Banks with her son/daughter toddler. And the cast members are surprised who she is. Drew is mostly surprised she is there because of reader doesn't like crowds. And the reason she is out of the spotlight and doesn't go to premieres and that sort of things.

hii anon!! this one-shot is in another universe where reader and drew first born is a daughter.

𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: drew has always respected your choice to stay private, away from the spotlight, even as his career flourished. but when he asks if you’d bring your three-year-old daughter, noelle, to visit him on the outer banks set, you decide to step out of your comfort zone for him. the moment you and noe arrive, drew’s world lights up, and his castmates are both surprised and excited to finally meet the woman he adores and the daughter he never stops talking about.

warning(s): extreme fluff, drew being the best dad, noelle being an adorable ball of shyness, mentions of social anxiety, secondhand embarrassment, and an overwhelmingly sweet family moment.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

You adjusted the tiny sneakers on Noelle’s feet, making sure they were secure before glancing up at your daughter’s bright eyes. She sat on the bed, small hands gripping the fabric of her leggings, excitement practically vibrating off her little frame.

“Are you ready to meet Dada, Noe?”

You asked with a warm smile.

“Yes, Mama! I am so weady,”

She chirped, her innocent voice sounding like pure sunshine

Your heart swelled. Noelle had always been a daddy’s girl, even if she didn’t get to see Drew as often as she wanted when he was on set. He video-called every night, sending her voice messages, silly selfies, and sometimes even short bedtime stories when he couldn’t tuck her in himself.

But today was special.

Today, for the first time ever, you were taking her to visit Drew on the Outer Banks set.

You hesitated when he first asked. Not because you didn’t want to go you missed him just as much as Noe did but because you weren’t used to being in places filled with cameras, fans, or a sea of people who recognized Drew on sight. You had chosen privacy long ago, staying in the shadows while supporting him from afar. Even now, almost no one knew who you were beyond your name, and you preferred it that way.

But this was for Drew. And Noelle. And honestly… you missed him too much to let your own nerves get in the way.

“Alright,” you said, holding out your hand for Noelle to take.

“We are ready.”

She eagerly grabbed onto you, her tiny fingers curling around yours as the two of you made your way to the car. The drive wasn’t too long, only about thirty minutes, considering how lucky you were to live near the filming location. Noelle spent the ride singing her little songs, occasionally asking, “How much longer, Mama?” before going back to talking to her stuffed bunny.

When you finally arrived, your stomach tightened with nerves. You weren’t used to this. The idea of walking onto a set filled with actors, crew members, and people who knew Drew in a way you never really experienced firsthand was… intimidating.

But then, as soon as you stepped out of the car and unbuckled Noe from her car seat, you saw him.

Drew was standing near the entrance, shifting from foot to foot like an excited kid waiting for Christmas morning. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, but the moment he spotted you and Noelle, his entire face lit up, his smile was so bright it rivaled the sun.

You squeezed Noelle’s hand gently.

“Noe, who’s that?” you asked softly, giving her a little shake to get her attention.

She looked up, eyes scanning the area until they locked onto Drew. Her face immediately mirrored his.

“DADA!”

Before you could react, she let go of your hand and sprinted toward him, her tiny legs moving as fast as they could. Drew didn’t even hesitate he dropped to his knees, arms outstretched, ready to catch her.

She crashed into him, giggling as he scooped her up and pressed a million kisses to her cheeks.

“Hi, my baby,”

Drew murmured against her hair, holding her close.

“I missed you so much.”

“I miss you, Dada,” she mumbled into his shoulder, arms locked tightly around his neck.

You walked toward them at a slower pace, adjusting your black mask and hat, feeling both relieved and oddly emotional at the reunion in front of you.

When you reached them, Drew tilted his head up, his eyes shining with nothing but love.

“Oh, my two favorite people on this entire planet,” he said, pulling you in for a hug. His lips found yours in a quick but tender kiss, his free hand resting on the small of your back. Then, he pressed another kiss to Noe’s head.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with gratitude.

“I know you hate crowds, but—”

“Shhh,” you cut him off gently, smiling behind your mask.

“I’m happy to be here. Really.”

Drew’s eyes softened, searching yours like he wanted to make sure you weren’t just saying that for his sake. Then he grinned.

“Are we happy to be here, Noe?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and nodded eagerly.

“Um hmm, Mama.”

Before Drew could respond, a new voice cut in.

“Oh my god, look who it is.”

You turned your head just in time to see Madison Bailey walking toward you, eyes wide with excitement.

You had seen her in interviews, heard Drew talk about her often, but this was your first time actually meeting her in person. And wow, she was just as gorgeous as she looked on screen.

“Hey, Y/N!” Madison grinned.

“Oh my gosh, first time meeting! Drew talks so much about you.”

You chuckled lightly.

“Hey, nice to finally meet you. I hope you’ve only heard the good things about me from him.”

Madison laughed.

“Oh, of course. And look who this little princess is.”

Noelle, suddenly shy, buried her face in Drew’s neck, her tiny fingers gripping his shirt.

Drew chuckled, rubbing her back soothingly.

“Noe, baby, can you say hi?”

Noelle hesitated, then peeked out just enough to whisper, “I’m… Noelle… Noelle Starkey.”

Madison melted on the spot.

“Oh my god. I’m in love.”

Drew beamed, pressing a kiss to Noe’s temple.

“She’s a heartbreaker already.”

Madison gently held out her hand.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Noelle.”

Noelle hesitated but, being the polite little girl she was, finally mumbled,

“Hi, Madison.”

Drew grinned.

“Hey, Noe, do you wanna meet all of Dada’s friends?”

Noelle peeked up at him, her shyness still lingering, but after a second, she gave a tiny nod.

And just like that, the entire Outer Banks cast became completely obsessed with her.

Jonathan and Chase immediately tried to win her over with goofy faces and silly voices. Carlacia called her “the most precious little human alive” and somehow managed to get Noelle to hold her hand for a few minutes. Rudy, being Rudy, had Noe giggling with a few exaggerated stories about her dad being a total dork on set (which Drew immediately denied, much to everyone’s amusement).

You mostly stayed by Drew’s side, quietly observing and enjoying the way he beamed with pride at Noe. Every time someone fawned over her, he would give you a little squeeze, like he was silently saying, We made this perfect little human.

Eventually, the day started to wind down, and Drew pulled you aside, holding Noelle close as she rested sleepily against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You tilted your head.

“For what?”

“For coming. For letting everyone meet Noe. For stepping out of your comfort zone for me.”

You smiled softly.

“You’re worth it, Drew.”

His grip tightened around you, his eyes filled with nothing but love.

“So are you.”

[be-my-sunrise]

Court-side Fever || z.cl

pairings: bf!chenle x fem!reader

genre: smut, minors pls dni

word count: 1,826

warnings: car sex, unprotected sex, pussy and thigh slapping, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, tit play. let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: happy new year's everyone! i hope you all enjoy your holiday :D i haven't posted in a while and i apologize for not being active here😞 anyways, enjoy this chenle fic! watching him play basketball does things to me, so i decided to write about it lmao

special thanks to @onriyuview @notyourjaem @lovetaroandtaemin @jenoslutie for helping me out🩵 ily teehee :3

“Good game, dude. See you next week!”

Chenle daps Mark up and leaves the basketball court. After bidding his goodbyes to Haechan and Jeno as well, he jogs towards where you’re sitting and grabs his water bottle. 

“Babe, do you want to order food at home, or should we go to a drive-thru?” He asks before downing his water.

However, you barely heard what he said. You don’t usually come with him when he’s playing basketball with his friends, mainly because Chenle feels bad about having you wait hours for him. But you insisted on tagging along this time, and boy, you were glad you did. 

Seeing him play and watching his moves on the court after so long has you in a trance. You find yourself rubbing your thighs together subconsciously almost the entire time. It's clear that he does things to your body, and it's evident in the way your panties stick to your core.

Now that he’s standing before you, lust clouds your mind, and every inch of your body is fighting the urge to take him on this bench. He looks so ravishing, all sweaty like this, the sun behind him like a paid actor. 

The cast of warm golden light around him only emphasizes the droplets of sweat on his dewy skin, and it’s not doing much to help with your situation.

Chenle glances at you when he doesn't hear any response. He waves one hand in front of your face. “Baby?”

You blink your eyes a couple of times, waking yourself up from your daze. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” 

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

“Uhh… no?” You look away nervously, which makes him chuckle. “Should we just order in? You seem a bit tired.”

More like aroused, but he’s right, you are somewhat tired. Tired of squeezing your thighs together. You need him so badly that you can’t even think straight. Realizing that Chenle is waiting for your answer, you give him a nod as a response.

“Alright then, let’s go home!”

Chenle leans down to pick up his bag from the ground beside your feet, and you suck in a sharp breath when you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells so fucking good, and it's driving you insane.

You stand up abruptly, almost bumping into his head in the process. He grabs your arm before you could walk away and pulls you close. “Baby, why are you being weird today? Are you okay?”

One proper look at him is all it takes for you to crash your lips against his. You practically throw your body onto Chenle, making him yelp when his back hits the fence. The kiss catches him off guard, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“You're so fucking hot, baby. I need you so bad,” you say in between kisses and feel him smirk.

You bunch his shirt up in a fit of desperation, exposing his toned abs. Chenle quickly snatches your wrist away when he feels you tugging on the waistband of his shorts. 

“Slow down, baby,” he says after pulling away. “Let's continue this in the car, yeah?”

He chuckles when he sees your face light up. You're buzzing with excitement as you drag him to his car, quite literally shoving him inside and straddling him in a blink of an eye.

You connect your lips with his again while grinding your core against his bulge. Chenle pulls your hips down to make you feel his hardening member even more. You run your fingers through his damp hair, giving it a slight pull. 

The kiss gets messier as the two of you get more desperate. He pulls away to catch his breath and tilts his head to give you more access as you start to leave hickeys across his neck. A small moan escapes his lips when you lick a stripe across his salty skin and blow cool air on the fresh red marks.

“If I had known you’d be like this, I would’ve taken you with me a long time ago,” he says breathlessly.

“I feel the same way, baby. I forgot how hot you look when you’re playing basketball,” you giggle. “At least we know better now.”

Chenle lays you down on the seat before pulling your pants down along with your panties in one swift motion. He smirks at the sight of your leaking core. 

“Fuck, baby. You must really like watching me play, hm? You soaked through your panties,” he says as he dangles your panties next to his face. 

You bite down on your lower lip when drags his finger along your slit, hips twitching as he lands a light slap on your clit. He pushes his pants down with one hand while rubbing your sensitive bud with the other. 

You feel a shiver down your spine when Chenle taps his cock on your clit, letting out a moan as he spreads your arousal across your pussy. You wait for him to push it in, but he continues to rub his cock against your slit and you start getting impatient. 

“You're so fucking wet I could just slip in easily,” he moans, admiring the mess he's making.

“Stop teasing and put it in then!” 

You snap and roll your eyes at Chenle, which makes him raise an eyebrow at your sudden change of attitude. 

“It’s cute that you think you can talk to me like that,” he scoffs. Chenle grips your thigh before landing a slap on it, making you flinch.

“You should be grateful that I’m hard as fuck right now, otherwise I would leave you untouched,” he says as he pulls you up by your arm. “On your knees.”

You quickly adjust your position, standing on your knees and placing your hands on the backrest. You let out a yelp when he pulls your head back by your hair, feeling his hot breath on your ear. 

“I've been spoiling you too much, and now you’re giving me attitude.”

You moan as he slowly rubs your clit. “Chenle, please.”

“Please what baby?” He teases while nibbling on your ear.

You try to form words but you can’t think straight. Your pussy is throbbing and the feeling of his hands on you makes you dizzy.

“Please… I need you,” you whine. Chenle lets out a condescending laugh seeing you push your ass back, grinding against his cock. 

“You can do better than that,” he says before slapping your ass.

“Fuck! Please, baby, I need you so bad. Need your cock inside me now, please.”

A gasp escapes your lips as Chenle pushes his cock all the way inside you, letting you adjust to his size for a moment as he leaves kisses on your neck. He pulls his cock out almost entirely, leaving just the tip before pushing himself back in all the way. 

His thrusts are deep and rough, your breath getting caught in your throat each time his hips slam against yours.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers before pulling on your hair once more. “Always so tight and wet.”

“O-only for you,” your voice trembles, barely managing to say anything.

He chuckles, “Is that so? Such a good girl.” 

Chenle slips both hands underneath your shirt, giving your tits a nice grip before pulling down your bra. He tugs on your nipples and rolls them between his fingers, making you throw your head back to rest on his shoulder as he continues thrusting relentlessly.

The car shakes with each thrust, and only the sounds of skin slapping and your broken moans can be heard. The grip you have on the seat tightens as Chenle angles his hips to push his cock even deeper, earning a loud moan from you.

Your thighs tremble as he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. He places one hand on the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss, and you moan into the kiss when you feel his fingers sneak their way onto your clit. 

“Baby, I'm-”

“Close? I know, baby. You keep clenching around me,” he chuckles. He picks up the pace and rubs your clit faster. “Cum for me, baby. Cream all over my cock.”

Your jaw goes slack as the pleasure overwhelms you. The way you're squeezing his cock makes him dizzy. Chenle lets out a groan, his thrusts getting sloppier as he reaches his climax. 

He pushes his cock all the way inside you as he cums, and you grind your hips against his to help him ride out his high. He presses a kiss on your temple before pulling out of your warmth.

You gasp as he cups your pussy and flicks his fingers against your slit with a quick motion, making his cum drip onto the leather seat. He tugs on your shirt as a signal for you to take it off. 

“Lay down on your back for me, baby,” he says with a low tone.

You lay back down on the seat and he spreads your legs wide. Chenle pulls your bra down to expose your hardened nipples and leans over to latch his lips around one of them. 

He shoves his fingers inside your pussy as he flicks his tongue on your nipple and you suck in a sharp breath, back arching from the pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby. Feels so good,” you moan. 

You place your hand on his head to feel him even closer as he sucks on your nipple, making you whimper. You're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, so it doesn't take long until you feel the familiar knot again.

“Oh, god. I'm gonna cum again, baby.”

Chenle unlatches his lips from your nipple and straightens his back, pushing his fingers all the way inside before curling them. The intensity of his fingers has you crying out in pleasure as you reach your second climax, legs convulsing as he pulls his fingers out and starts rubbing your clit quickly. 

Your legs clamp around his arm, but he uses his other hand to spread them apart and hold them down. Chenle slaps your clit harshly after you come down from your high, making your hips twitch. 

He grips your tits using the hand that's still wet with your arousal, flicking the bud until your chest starts to tremble and you let out a shaky breath from the tingly sensation. 

He leans down to kiss you once more before tucking his cock back into his pants. You were about to get up and redress yourself, but Chenle stops you. You look at him confused.

“You're staying like this until we get home, baby,” he says with a smirk on his face. 

He grabs one of your hands and places it on your core. Then, Chenle climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts his mirror so he can watch you play with yourself.  

“Just keep that pretty little pussy of yours wet for me.”

a/n: save me basketball player chenle😵‍💫🫠 thank you for reading<3 i hope you like it!

[wholoveseggs]

Losing

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} A late-night debate turns into a wager you’re sure you’ll win. But when Elijah proves you wrong, his prize isn’t gloating...

♡♡ here is some tooth-rottingly sweet and romantic eli smut ♡♡

3.6k words - Warnings: smuttt, friends to lovers, oral sex (f!receiving), wine, wagers, gramophone, slow dancing, sex in front of a fire & catherine the great...

It was late. Past midnight. The fire in Elijah’s study had burned low, casting gold light across his cheekbones, making him look like something carved out of stone, all sharp edges and shadowed angles. His dark eyes seemed almost completely black in the soft glow. His sleeves were rolled up. His tie was gone. There was a half-smile on his lips, like he was letting you talk just to humor himself.

“You’re making that up,” you said, laughing as you sipped your wine.

Elijah shook his head, lounging back in his chair like he had all the time in the world to prove you wrong. You were curled lazily in one of his oversized armchairs, legs crossed at the ankle, glass balanced in your hand. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to end up here. Late-night debates, shared bottles of red, conversations that wandered from art to war to pop culture to vampire trivia.

Just friends. That’s what it had always been. Comfortable. Easy. But tonight the air felt warmer, thicker. Your cheeks were flushed from the wine. Your limbs loose. And the teasing had started to feel more like testing.

The debate had begun when Elijah brought up Catherine the Great and her lesser-known hobbies.

“She absolutely did not write erotica,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “That’s ridiculous.”

Elijah tilted his head, amused. “I assure you, it’s entirely true.”

You raised your brows. “You’re telling me Catherine the Great. Empress of Russia. Famed for her political prowess…spent her downtime writing smut?”

“Precisely.” Elijah’s tone was calm, eyes glittering with mischief. “And quite enthusiastically, I might add.”

You stared at him, openly skeptical. “You’re messing with me.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Prove it.”

Elijah leaned forward slightly, the challenge brightening his gaze. “Would you like to place a wager?”

You laughed, bold from the wine and feeling a thrill ripple through your chest. “What are you betting?”

“A favor,” he replied, voice smooth as velvet. “If you’re right, and I cannot prove it, you may ask anything of me.”

You bit your lip, pulse quickening at the possibilities. “Anything? Like anything anything?”

Elijah smiled slowly. “Anything within my power.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance though your cheeks warmed beneath his intense stare. “Fine. If you’re right…though I know you’re not- what do you want?”

His gaze lingered a fraction too long, his eyes softening slightly, the amusement slipping briefly into something gentler. What he wanted was dangerous, he was far too close to revealing the depth of his affection. He had carried this secret yearning for far too long, treasuring these quiet nights, savoring every teasing smile you threw his way. But tonight, tonight perhaps he would take a risk.

“If I win,” Elijah said gently, setting his glass aside and rising smoothly to his feet, “I’d like a dance.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “A dance?”

“A dance,” he confirmed softly. “Just one.”

It wasn't an unreasonable request, but the look in his eye made you hesitate, something sweet and longing and utterly vulnerable. You told yourself it was a trick of the firelight, a trick of the shadows, a trick of your own longing.

You smiled slowly, softly. “Alright, Elijah. If you win, you’ll get your dance. But you won’t.”

He chuckled softly, turning and selecting a volume from the shelves behind him with calm certainty. He opened it smoothly, flipping to a page with practiced ease, and handed it to you with an almost apologetic smile.

"That's her real signature," Elijah said, nodding towards the looping letters. "I'm afraid I'm not bluffing."

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a small laugh. "No way."

"Yes, way," he teased, lips twitching into a smirk.

You looked down, scanning the first page of the short story, then flipped to the next, and the next, and the next.

"Are you enjoying the Empress' literary talents?" Elijah murmured, and when you looked up he was standing much closer than before, his gaze warm and soft.

Your cheeks burned and you quickly closed the book, offering it back to him. He took it, eyes sparkling and placed it back on the shelf with a satisfied smile.

"Fine," you said, laughing, "I was wrong. Catherine the Great wrote porn. You won."

He nodded in agreement and walked over to his old gramophone, selecting a slow, classical piece and carefully adjusting the needle. The soft crackle of vinyl filled the silence, and then the first delicate notes began to play.

He turned toward you, extending a hand.

“Our wager, if you’ll recall, was one dance,” he said, voice low and smooth.

You hesitated for just a second, just long enough to feel the tension bloom in your chest, then set your glass down and stood. The room felt warmer as you crossed it. His eyes tracked you the whole way, that unreadable half-smile still on his lips, but softer now. Less teasing. Like something was shifting between you and he didn’t dare move too quickly.

You slipped your hand into his.

“So it was,” you said, and your heart stuttered as he pulled you gently into him, his other hand settling lightly at your waist.

The room blurred at the edges, the firelight flickering gold across the walls, the soft strings from the gramophone wrapping around you both like a spell. He didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. Just moved with you slowly, eyes flickering down to your lips and then back up again.

You tried to laugh, to keep it light, your brain not quite registering what he was doing. “You’re really cashing in this bet with a waltz?”

Elijah’s lips curved, but the amusement in his eyes was soft. “You’d be surprised how revealing a dance can be.”

“You say that like it’s a threat.”

“A promise,” he said quietly.

You weren’t sure when his hand drifted from your waist to the small of your back, guiding you just a little closer. Your chest brushed his with every slow sway. You could smell his cologne, feel the steady strength beneath his clothes, and something in your stomach twisted, you were nervous, wanting, and wholly unprepared.

“What am I revealing to you, then, Elijah Mikaelson?" You whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"More than you realize," he said softly, and it sounded like a confession.

He lifted your hand, his palm warm against yours, and turned with a gentle spin. Your feet stumbled a little, but he caught you with ease, smiling, and drew you back against him, closer than before.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers tangling into the collar of his shirt, clinging to him for balance. "Unfortunately I have two left feet. No dancing skills whatsoever."

"You're doing just fine," he murmured, the words low and warm against your skin.

"I'm following your lead."

"Exactly."

"So it's not really me doing the dancing, is it?" You pointed out, lips twitching.

"Perhaps," he admitted, "but it is a partnership. I'll catch you if you fall."

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way he said it…soft and steady and sure, like he meant it. Like he wasn’t just talking about dancing. . And in that moment, something shifted. Subtle, but unmistakable. All your doubts melted away. Of course he felt it too.

You looked up, and his face was inches from yours, every line of it softened by the glow of firelight and some quiet, patient ache you weren’t sure had been there before. Or maybe it had always been there, and you just never let yourself look.

He reached up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trailing his fingertips lightly down the side of your neck.

The fire crackled. The song ended. The rest of the world disappeared. Your eyes flickered to his mouth. His hand curled around the back of your neck. You tilted your chin up, and he lowered his, and somewhere between the stillness, the fire, and the years of almosts, your lips touched.

Soft. Slow. Just once, and then again. And again. You sank into him, hands clutching his shirt, and his tongue slipped past your parted lips, the taste of him sending heat curling through your stomach. He sighed against your mouth, arms tightening around you as he broke the kiss slowly, breathing uneven, and leaned his forehead against yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled softly nearby, the music long faded, but your bodies still swayed slightly, as if the dance hadn’t quite ended. Your breaths mingled, all close, steady and intimate. You could feel his heart beating through his chest, feel your own stuttering to match it.

Elijah’s hand found your face again, thumb brushing gently along your bottom lip, his voice hushed and raw. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

Your eyes fluttered closed under the weight of the confession. “You’re not alone,” you breathed.

“No?” he murmured, still gently swaying you.

You shook your head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping. “God, no. Elijah, I… I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for ages. I thought maybe we were just...”

“Just what?” he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice even as his fingers skimmed down the side of your neck.

“Just friends,” you admitted, cheeks burning.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours.

“Well, we are,” he said, voice low and warm. His hand slid from your jaw to your waist, drawing you closer as he began walking you backward, gently guiding you step by step toward the hearth. “But friends can also be lovers.”

You didn’t resist. Couldn’t. You let him lead you, your fingers tangled in his shirt, the heat of the fire warming the backs of your thighs. You tugged hard enough to pop a button, and then another, as his hands slowly pulled up your dress, his knuckles grazing the soft skin beneath.

He leaned in and kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue brushing yours.. You fumbled with the remaining buttons, tugging his shirt off his shoulders and tossing it aside, and his mouth trailed lower. He tasted your neck, nipped gently at the base of your throat, and the room spun.

"You're right," you said, a breathless laugh escaping as he peeled your dress away and dropped it on the floor.

"About what?" he murmured, his lips skimming the curve of your breast as he deftly undid the clasp at the back.

"A dance." You ran your hands down his bare chest, relishing the heat of his skin, and started to unfasten his pants. "It's incredibly revealing."

Elijah’s low chuckle rumbled against your skin as he leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time and deeper, his hand skimming down over the curve of your ass.

Then, without warning, his arms slid beneath you, one bracing your back and the other curling under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.

You gasped, laughing breathlessly as your arms flew around his neck. “Elijah!”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice thick with warmth and affection. “Always.”

He walked toward the firelight, his gaze never leaving yours. Then he knelt and lowered you carefully onto the thick rug in front of the fireplace. The flames licked heat across your skin, but his gaze was hotter, filled with hunger, the golden light flickering in his dark eyes.

He leaned over you, his hands tracing the contours of your hips. He kissed his way down your chest, swirling his tongue around one nipple, then the other, until they hardened and ached beneath his mouth. You moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, looking up at you, eyes glittering. "Like something from a dream."

Your cheeks warmed. You couldn't help smiling, hardly believing this was real. Him, here, saying these things. He held your gaze as his lips moved lower, trailing along your ribs while his hands caressed your sides. Then his mouth pressed gently to your stomach, just above the lace edge of your panties. 

Your hips rolled unconsciously, seeking more, and he gripped you a little harder, stilling you. Then came his tongue, the wet heat of it making your head spin. You squirmed, moaning softly, and his lips curved against you, a low hum reverberating from his chest.

“You’re sensitive here.” His voice was warm and low, edged with delight, like he’d just discovered a secret meant only for him.

Then he kissed lower, tongue dragging in lazy, open-mouthed strokes across your skin. Down the inside of one thigh, then the other, his mouth hot and unhurried. He nipped, kissed, licked like he was savoring a feast he’d waited lifetimes to taste.

You shifted beneath him, your legs lifting and spreading instinctively. He caught them easily, placing them over his broad shoulders and sliding his palms down your thighs.

"Stay right there," he whispered, the command barely audible over the crackle of the flames.

Without warning, he dragged his tongue, hot and slick, across the thin fabric between your legs. Your hips jerked, a strangled gasp catching in your throat. He laughed softly, his voice low and rich with wicked pleasure.

"Mmm... sensitive everywhere, then," he purred. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you still, pinned beneath his mouth.

His teeth scraped the delicate lace, the tip of his tongue tracing your seam through the fabric. You whimpered, head falling back. You could feel him smiling as he kissed lower, sucking gently at the lace that barely covered the soft bud of nerves. Your thighs clenched around his head, toes curling.

"Elijah," you whimpered, hands fisting in his hair.

He hummed in response, tongue flicking again against the lace. You cried out, bucking helplessly. You couldn’t think. Couldn't breathe. Could only moan and shudder, your thighs flexing and releasing with every stroke of his tongue.

He pulled away just enough to push the fabric aside, his fingers spreading you open. Then his mouth was on you again, no barrier this time.

You sobbed his name, hips lifting. He held you steady, his strength gentle but unyielding. Your whole body tightened. Every nerve lit up. Heat bloomed low in your belly, dark and consuming. 

Your hands twisted in his hair, his name slipping from your lips in a litany of moans. His eyes flicked up, meeting yours over the plane of your stomach. He didn’t stop. Just groaned into you, he couldn’t get enough, your taste was everything he’d ever wanted.

Your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue flattened and dragged across the sensitive bud in a slow, devastating stroke.

"Oh fuck, Elijah, I can't-"

Your release hit you like a wave. He stayed with you, his mouth never leaving, fingers moving with careful, steady precision, coaxing the pleasure out in long, languid pulses.

He held you there, tongue swirling in slow circles, until your body finally began to soften under him. Only then did he pull away, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

You were still trembling, panting. Your eyes found his as he knelt above you, chest glistening faintly with sweat, dark hair tousled, eyes burning. All you wanted was to have him close. On you, in you, surrounding you completely.

You reached up, pulling him down, crushing your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding up your ribs, the other fumbling at his waistband.

You could feel the thick ridge of his cock straining against the thin fabric of his briefs. You rolled your hips, gasping as he dragged himself over your swollen, sensitive center. He was hard, heavy, and you whimpered, reaching down to push the last layer of fabric aside. He let out a rough sigh as his length brushed over you, his teeth catching your bottom lip.

You tugged at the waistband, and his hand slipped between your bodies, covering yours. For a second, you thought he was going to pull away. A soft whimper escaped. But then he guided your hand lower, until his thick shaft filled your palm.

You curled your fingers around him, stroking lightly. He let out a low groan.

"That's it," he murmured, voice rough. "Just like that, sweetheart."

Heat pulsed between your thighs, and you stroked him a little faster, feeling him twitch in your grip.

He broke the kiss. When his eyes met yours, the hunger softened into something tender.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?"

You bit your lip, heart twisting. "Tell me."

His smile was small, sincere. "Since the moment we met."

Your heart fluttered. A breathless laugh escaped. You couldn’t look away. "That long?"

"Yes," he whispered, moving your hand aside and leaning in to kiss your throat. "Since the first time I saw you... you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen."

"Elijah..." There were no words big enough, so you kissed him, giving him everything instead.

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness. The tip of his cock nudged your entrance. He pushed in slowly, carefully, hands braced on either side of your head, hips rocking until he was seated fully inside you.

You moaned, hands clutching his shoulders. He kissed you again, his lips lingering. "Is this alright?"

You nodded, wrapping your legs around him. The low, needy sound he made was enough to melt you.

"You feel incredible," he whispered, his mouth trailing along your jaw.

"So do you," you murmured, your hands running down the smooth lines of his back.

He pulled out slowly, almost completely, then pushed back in. Another moan slipped from your lips. Your fingers dug into his skin, urging him on as his hips began to move in a steady rhythm.

His hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on his as he made love to you. Every thrust was deep, deliberate. His breath warmed your mouth, his dark gaze never straying from your face, watching each shiver, each gasp, each desperate whisper.

"Look at you," he said, voice filled with reverence.

You tried to respond, but all you could manage was a broken whimper as he thrust deeper. His strokes began to quicken.

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through your body. "Beautiful."

"Elijah, please," you whispered, tugging him down for a kiss.

He groaned, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hips drove harder, his control starting to unravel.

"Touch yourself," he said, breaking the kiss and brushing his lips along your jaw.

You slid a hand between your bodies, circling your clit. His forehead dropped against yours.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Just like that."

He reached down, covering your hand, his fingers pressing yours a little tighter, a little faster. You could feel the pleasure coiling, building, and his eyes met yours again, hips smacking against yours with a soft, wet sound.

"Come for me, sweetheart."

You were so close. So full. It felt so good, his skin against yours, his cock driving into you, his fingers working in tandem with yours. Your body clenched, thighs shaking, and your release rushed through you in a dizzying wave. He followed you over the edge, spilling hot inside you, his groan rumbling against your neck as he pumped his hips, driving you both higher, deeper, until it was too much. Until you were clinging to each other, gasping, shuddering.

He leaned up, pressing his lips against yours, and for a few moments neither of you spoke, content just to trade lazy kisses, your hands slowly stroking the sweat-dampened skin of his back.

Finally, Elijah's arms slipped beneath you, and he rolled, shifting you with him so that his back was against the carpet and you were lying on top of him, sprawled across his broad chest.

His fingers trailed idly up and down your spine. The fire was still burning, the logs popping softly, and he leaned down to brush a kiss against the top of your head.

"I hope this isn't presumptuous," he murmured, a smile in his voice, "but I was hoping you might stay tonight."

"Mmm," you murmured, turning to nuzzle his chest. "As long as you cook me breakfast tomorrow."

"Done."

"Good. Because I'm famished."

His laughter rumbled through his chest, and his arms tightened, hugging you a little closer.

"You'll need your strength," he whispered, trailing his fingers along the curve of your hip, "because we have a lot more bets to settle."

Your head snapped up, eyes widening as you grinned.

Somehow, losing had never felt so good.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Just Once | Part II

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, language); all characters are 18+ Words: ~6,400 Tags: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, mutual pining, smut, sexual exploration

⬅️ Read Part I

Notes: I'm alive! I am so, so sorry it took me so long to write this! Work has been kicking my ass lately, but I deeply appreciate everyone who has read this -- it's been a blast to write!

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sleep was futile. You tossed and turned for hours, but the more you squeezed your eyes shut, the more you found yourself clamping your thighs together in quiet agony. The thoughts of what Sebastian had done to you – done for you – replayed on a loop until your core ached for more.

You buried your face in your pillow with half the mind to smother yourself. Except you weren’t seeking death. If anything, you felt like you’d been enlightened to a new reason worth living. Perhaps most people would deem that silly and dramatic, but they hadn’t felt what you had.

You swallowed, your forehead hot and hair plastered to your face as you thought about Sebastian – the way his fingers pressed patterns of pulsing pleasure into your flesh; the way his calm eyes met yours in the mirror’s reflection with quiet determination; the way his attention remained entirely on you.

Your crush on your best friend had always been anything but that. You merely told yourself it was a meaningless flame that would surely falter the moment you left Hogwarts and met new men full of worldly experience. But in truth, you’d been fatally in love with Sebastian Sallow since you were fifteen. And now that he’d grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to a secret alcove of ecstasy you never thought you’d explore, your ties to Sebastian were much tighter than the loose threads of mere puppy love. He’d looped an invisible noose around your neck that would surely suffocate you if he strayed too far from you now.

Simply put, you knew whatever this was you’d embarked on with Sebastian would surely land you in a cage of hopeless desperation, but you were in far too deep to flee.

By the time breakfast finally started the following morning, you practically had to sit on your own hands to keep from fidgeting.

Ominis sensed your restless behavior the moment he sat down across from you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his tone sharp with concern.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled into your morning eggs. “Just tired.”

“Tired? Then why are you acting like you’ve had ten cups of tea? You can hardly sit still.”

“Just have a lot going on is all,” you said with a shrug. “You know, exams approaching and whatnot.”

“Since when do you care about exams?” Ominis pushed. “You’ve already got your spot secured with the Ministry Auror apprenticeship.”

“Yes, I know,” you huffed. “But it never hurts to put a little effort in.”

“Put a little effort into what?” Your head snapped up as Sebastian took the seat next to you. Your spine became rigid and you held your breath, your eyes absolutely fascinated by your breakfast plate.

“A little effort into my studies,” you answered with as much nonchalance as you could manage.

Sebastian’s eyes glinted with amusement, not that you could see them as your gaze remained cast downward. “Studying?” he laughed. “What are you concerned about studying for?”

“She said it’s making her jittery,” Ominis added. You glared daggers at him, undeterred by the fact he couldn’t see them.

“Jittery?” Sebastian repeated. “Since when does anything make you anxious?”

“Since when does my interest in schoolwork concern either of you?” you challenged.

“Everything you do concerns us,” Sebastian said. “That’s how this works.”

You prayed he didn’t see the flush that was surely sprawling from your neck to your cheeks. His casual, confident demeanor set you even more on edge. How could he be so carefree after the things he’d done to you yesterday?

Of course, for you, that was all foreign and new. But for Sebastian, you had to assume it was another standard Sunday. Maybe it hadn’t really mattered to him. 

“Don’t forget about detention tonight,” Sebastian said with a mouthful of pastry. “We’re to meet Professor Weasley in the Trophy Room.”

“The Trophy Room?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Who knows, maybe she wants to reward us for being upstanding, model students.”

—

By the time you met Sebastian at the top of the staircase to the Trophy Room at 7 p.m., Professor Weasley was already waiting for you. She stood with her hands behind her back, her eyes serious as she watched you approach. 

“Good evening,” she said with a neutral tone. You knew she was annoyed at you and Sebastian for behaving like degenerates, but you also knew the two of you were among her favorite students. She wouldn’t stay cross with you for long.

“Good evening, Professor,” you both chorused. 

“The two of you will spend the evening polishing the trophies in each case – without magic,” Professor Weasley said, adding extra emphasis at the end of her sentence. “I surmise you’re both capable of that task?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And I trust the two of you will resist any temptation for additional indiscretions?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Now I have some matters to tend to, but I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. And please keep your voices down. Headmaster Black is currently away in London, but I trust you two will be quiet anyway.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it then.”

You watched in silence as she retreated toward the Grand Staircase. Now very aware that you and Sebastian were alone for the first time since the previous day’s activities in the Undercroft, you made a beeline toward the bucket of polish and rags Professor Weasley had left. Perhaps if you pretended to be unbothered, it would come true.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian mused. He leaned with his back to the frame of the entrance archway, his arms folded across his chest. You could feel his eyes clinging to you while you began to wonder why it was abnormally hot in the Trophy Room.

“I’m polishing trophies,” you deadpanned, still avoiding his stare.

“And why are you doing that?”

“Because I don’t want to spend another evening in detention, you prat. Now help me so we can get this done and over with.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“Those are famous last words,” you muttered as you began polishing a trophy inside the quidditch cabinet. You didn’t need to face Sebastian to know he was smirking at you.

“Come on,” he said. “Surely there are better things we could be doing.”

Your heart crept into your throat. You knew where this was going. You were inching toward another point of no return. And you knew you wouldn’t stop yourself. 

“And what would you rather be doing?” you asked, finally turning your head to look at Sebastian.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “Lots of things. Perhaps what we did yesterday?”

You tore your gaze from him, your blush surely giving you away. 

“Sebastian…” you warned. 

“What?” he quipped innocently. 

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“How so? Or are you no longer interested in my services?”

“Your services?” you snorted. “What are you, a street harlot?”

“Depends, are you offering payment?” You hurled your rag at him and he laughed. “Okay, okay, fine,” he continued. “No payment necessary. But I still think we should take advantage of these extra hours of free time.”

“It’s not free time, Seb,” you noted. “And if Professor Weasley catches us, we’ll never see freedom again.”

“Then we won’t let her catch us,” Sebastian said simply. Before you could realize it, he was stepping toward you. You stilled, breath held deep in your lungs as he lingered in front of you. 

You silently screamed at him to touch you, in any way, shape or form he wanted. Instead, you gazed at him with a pointed stare, challenging him to act. It was your only defense to keep yourself from making an absolute, utter fool of yourself.

Sebastian’s hands snaked their way around your waist to the small of your back before he leaned in. You could smell aftershave, his arms tugging you closer until your head rested against his chest. Now, you were torn between wanting to linger in the safe warmth of his embrace and the desire to wrestle him to the floor to climb on top of him.

“We don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” he murmured in your ear. “Honestly, just tell me if… if you want yesterday to be a one-time thing.”

Sebastian was wasting his breath. You didn’t need an out, nor did you need any persuading. But you weren’t going to tell him that.

“But what if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught,” Sebastian insisted. You could feel his fingers pressing into the small of your back, and the sudden realization that he wanted you, too, hit you with stunning force. 

You’d spent your entire friendship thinking your connection to Sebastian would never breach the confines of platonic; kindred spirits, maybe even friendly flirtation, but certainly never anything of a physical nature. You’d begrudgingly convinced yourself that Sebastian was blind to your sexual nature. After all, plenty of your classmates expressed desire for you, but Sebastian never seemed to sneak so much as a double-take. 

But now, Sebastian’s eyes were feasting on you as if you were the first sexual being he’d ever seen.

The heat that had been slowly sprawling over your facial features now descended into your stomach, inching lower until you could feel it scalding between your thighs. You pinched them together, but the pressure only made the ache worse. 

Sebastian, sensing your discomfort, lifted an eyebrow at you. “Alright?” he asked. You merely nodded in response, afraid the pitch of your voice would expose your anticipation. Sebastian moved even closer, until his body was pressing flush with yours. Your breath hitched when you felt his erection prodding your stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he hummed in your ear. Goosebumps peppered the skin of your arms. The bulge pressed against your belly felt... substantial.

Sebastian slowly backed you toward the trophy case until you were pressed against the glass display. His eyes locked on yours, wild yet in control, as if he was testing the waters, reading how far you’d let him go. When you didn’t break his gaze, he leaned in to kiss you.

If you hadn’t been a goner before this, you certainly were now. Your heart rattled against your ribcage and you became spineless in Sebastian’s arms. He’d rendered you into submission and he’d barely touched you.

When Sebastian deepened the kiss, your arms tightened around his neck, shamelessly seeking more. He obliged you, his tongue finding your bottom lip and his hand tangling itself in your hair. Somewhere, beneath the blurred lines of an evolving friendship, you felt affection. Your mind raced until your head spun and your lungs burned for air. When you finally forced your lips free from Sebastian’s, he smirked at you.

“Ready for something even better than yesterday?” he mewed in your ear. 

Sebastian wasn’t one to make promises he couldn’t keep. And that’s what made your current situation even more dizzying – and thrilling.

His lips met your neck with careful deliberation, pressing swift kisses while his hands roamed your waist. The cool glass of the trophy case against your back contrasted the scorching heat between your bodies, but Sebastian’s hands wandered lower, skimming the tops of your thighs beneath your skirt.

His fingertips grazed your skin until the heat between your legs was impossible to ignore. He rubbed the fabric guarding your entrance and you whimpered in desperation for more.

You thought he’d tease you, take his time with you. After all, Sebastian had always been a cheeky son-of-a-bitch, especially when it came to you.

But as he fell to his knees in front of you, you gasped when he shoved the hem of your skirt upward, pinning it against your stomach while he pinned you against the glass. He pulled your panties to the side and you couldn’t withhold a moan when his tongue met your clit.

“Fuck, Seb,” you hissed as the pressure increased. Your hands tangled in his hair, the scant remnants of your self-control keeping you from pulling too hard. Your hips rolled forward and your exhales became quick, short puffs. 

You always thought you hated every girl who had the privilege to discover Sebastian in this way. But now, you silently thanked the universe for his experience and expertise. 

Broken moans escaped your lips between your panting. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head tilted back against the glass, your fingertips pressing against Sebastian’s scalp. Your woozy head became a black hole of filthy thoughts and shameless greed, desperate to discover more.

Sebastian’s hand kept your skirt hem raised above his head, his forearm pinning you against the trophy case as his tongue prodded your clit.

If Professor Weasley were to return, the primal sounds echoing across the room would expose you immediately. But you weren’t thinking about Professor Weasley right now, and you sure as hell weren’t in a state of mind to consider decorum. The only thing coursing through your mind was the bliss blooming within your walls.

When you finally managed to open your eyes and tilt your head forward to look at Sebastian, you were alarmed to find him staring upward at you. Pride glimmered in his eyes and you couldn’t fault him for it, given the pitiful uncontrolled sounds spilling from your lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Sebastian murmured against your flesh. He sucked against your clit and you unleashed a sharp gasp. You’d never experienced that before and you could feel the muscles tensing in the backs of your thighs.

“Oh god,” you moaned to encourage him. He received the message and continued, his lips pulling and tongue flicking, until your eyes began to water from the searing sensation mounting within your nerve endings. It was all new to you, and had it not felt so fucking good, you might have been concerned for yourself. Sure, Sebastian had shown you your first orgasm just the previous day, but this – this was more intense than you thought possible.

The pressure became damn near painful as you squeezed your eyes shut again, your back arching off the glass as a desperate hum vibrated from your throat. You bucked your hips forward, begging Sebastian to grant you the privilege of more pleasure.

His tongue flattened against your clit and rolled, triggering the response you’d been willing to risk everything for. You heaved a sharp wail as your cunt convulsed, forcing a current of ecstasy through your body. It nearly forced you to your knees, had Sebastian not been holding you upright. His tongue worked you through your release, pressing and prodding your surging entrance until he hummed at the taste.

You ground your hips against him one last time to prolong the moment until your body finally slackened, leaving you slumped against the trophy case without a coherent thought. Sebastian, still resting on his knees, smirked upward at you.

“How was that?” he asked.

Your brain couldn’t quite compute the words, so you merely issued a soft whimper that made Sebastian bark a smug laugh. He released your skirt hem and rose to his feet, looming over you so he could press his erection against your stomach again.

“Have I earned some repayment yet?” he rasped in your ear, one hand pressed against the glass above your head so he could lean closer. You nodded.

“Anything you want,” you whispered.

“Anything?” he asked, pulling away to gaze at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Anything.” You were sure. You trusted Sebastian enough to know he wouldn’t demand too much, but knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be afraid to ask for what he wanted.

Sebastian studied your eyes until you felt faint. He seemed to be searching your gaze for some sort of confirmation or hint. His eyes lingered and you swallowed the urge to tell him you’d worship him to the grave if he asked.

“I want you to be mine,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. Your lungs emptied instantly. It wasn’t the request you’d been expecting.

“Wh-what?” Your vision rattled back into alert focus, your mind sharpening at his words.

“I want you to be mine,” Sebastian repeated. “Mine and only mine.”

“How… how so?”

“Just you and me. No one else.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

You were terrified to continue staring into his eyes, convinced he'd be able to read them and learn every secret about himself you'd kept under lock and key. But you were also fearful of looking away, as if breaking eye contact would sever the moment you’d seen only in your daydreams. But you had to be sure.

“You mean as in us… being together?” you asked carefully.

“Yes.”

This was not how you’d expected your detention to turn out. You wanted to say something impressively witty and painstakingly clever, something that would prove to Sebastian this would all be worthwhile, that you were the one and only being he should ever bother with.

But all you could manage was a soft, “Okay,” though your hushed tone was a steep contrast to the screaming jubilation ringing in your skull. You wanted to fall to your knees in relief, or jump up and down in celebration. Instead, you waited for Sebastian to decide what would come next. Little did you know it would be you — again.

Sebastian didn’t say anything more. Instead, he used the soft moment to kiss you, first with gentle adoration, followed quickly by charged intensity. He pressed his body into yours, as if he were trying to prove how much he needed you. But as his kisses became more urgent, the sudden intrusion of footsteps approaching forced you apart.

You whirled toward the doorway just as Duncan Hobhouse wandered into the trophy room.

“Hobhouse,” Sebastian sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask the two of you the same question,” Duncan retorted with narrowed eyes.

“We’re serving a quick little detention,” Sebastian answered. “Meaning the Trophy Room’s closed for cleaning, so you can be on your way.”

“Detention my arse,” Duncan sneered. “The two of you were clearly having a snog.”

“Might want to get your glasses checked, Hobhouse,” Sebastian continued. “We’re merely cleaning the trophies like upstanding students committed to completing our detention and learning our moral lesson.” Even you had to bite back a snort.

“Really,” Duncan deadpanned. “And that’s why there’s a handprint on the glass above your heads? Perhaps I’ll just tell Professor Weasley that you missed a spot.”

“What are you doing here, Duncan?” you interjected with an annoyed sigh. 

“I came to check on some old awards for special services to the school,” Duncan replied. 

“They don’t hand out awards for being the school’s biggest bigot, if that’s what you’re aspiring toward,” you noted.

“Yeah? How about an award for being the school’s biggest slag? You’ll take top honors.” 

Sebastian made a move toward Duncan, ready to throttle him with his bare hands, but you were quicker with your wand. “Petrificus totalus!” 

Duncan’s limbs snapped rigid and you watched in silence as he toppled to the floor, stiff as a board. Sebastian cackled with glee.

“We ought to shag right next to him,” he said as he approached Duncan to leer downward at him.

“He’d probably like it too much,” you said, glaring daggers at the boy on the floor. You fished Duncan’s wand from his robes and secured it with your own. 

“Too true,” Sebastian agreed. “Besides, you’re mine now. No one else gets to have a look.”

Your cheeks flushed as he reached for you and hooked an arm around your waist. It was a simple gesture that you hoped would become as routine as afternoon tea, but in that moment, it felt as if everything was changing in a flurry of thrill and adrenaline. Your self-control and propriety were waning.

“Come on,” you said, reaching for Sebastian’s hand. Another simple gesture that felt wild and bold to you, new and unchartered despite the unchaste actions that had just occurred in the Trophy Room.

You tossed one final look of disgust at Duncan before leading Sebastian toward the rear doorway of the Trophy Room, through the gate and up the stairs. Once you dragged him through the winding hallway and toward the next staircase, Sebastian let out a low whistle.

“Wait a minute,” he said, though he allowed you to continue guiding him up the steps. “We’re not headed where I think we are…”

You tossed him a smug glance. “You heard Professor Weasley,” you said. “Headmaster Black’s gone for the night.”

“But we can’t just…”

It was rare that you ever rendered Sebastian speechless and you were reveling in the moment. “Assuming he hasn’t changed the password – and he hasn’t in the last few years,” you said slyly.

“This is bold, even for me,” Sebastian said as you approached the stone gargoyle.

He wasn’t wrong. While you and Sebastian had no reservations when it came to bending a few rules (and maybe committing an accidental homicide), you were both typically smart enough to color within the lines. You only strayed from them when it felt necessary. And breaking into Black’s office had only been necessary that one time.

But you decided if you and Sebastian were going to take the plunge into the wild unknown of romance, you might as well make it memorable. Maybe, you thought, you’d look back at this with fondness one day. And even if you didn’t, even if you failed and you and Sebastian became a burning wreckage of destruction and debris, at least you could say the two of you were anything but boring.

“Toujours pur,” you said confidently, smiling as the enchanted gargoyle began to spin. You glanced sideways at Sebastian, who was giving you wide eyes. “Scared?” you teased.

Sebastian shook his head. “Of course not,” he answered. You could see right through him. 

“We’ll just have a quick look, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Sebastian followed you up the spiral stairs until you reached Headmaster Black’s office. You watched Sebastian gaze around the office, eyes glinting with familiar mischief as he observed the surroundings. He strode toward Black’s desk, pausing to examine various trinkets and statues along the way. When he reached the desk, curiously eyeing various sheets of parchment scattered across the top, you noticed his trousers were still straining over his erection. 

You subconsciously licked your bottom lip. You genuinely — honest and swear to God — hadn't planned on defiling the headmaster's office that night, but your weeks as a Hogwarts student were winding now and you figured such an opportunity wouldn't arise again. Not to mention you were desperate to seal your fate with Sebastian.

You strolled casually toward the desk, your arms folded as you studied the ceiling with faux interest. When you returned your eyes downward, you realized Sebastian’s were fixated on you. 

“About that reward,” he purred as he backed you toward the desk. It seemed his hesitations had vanished.

Once the backs of your thighs met the desk’s edge, you chewed your bottom lip in anticipation. Sebastian flashed his canines.

You held your breath as he reached for the buttons of your blouse. His fingers worked methodically until your shirt fell open, exposing your bra and bare midriff. He leaned in to kiss you, his hands guiding your shirt off in the process. 

The office air was cool and dim, but Sebastian’s lips seemed to sizzle against your skin as he left a trail of kisses from your lips to your neck. His hands were just as hot as they snaked toward your back to unclasp your bra. As soon as it opened, Sebastian was tossing it aside with your blouse.

You couldn’t help but avert your bashful eyes as he examined your half-nude form. You weren’t sure why you felt shy, given he’d seen you much more intimately just below in the Trophy Room, but as his hand cupped your breast, your anxiety fizzled.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he hissed as he pressed a thumb against your nipple. “Can’t wait to finally make you come on my cock.”

You whimpered in response. You’d always assumed Sebastian was bold and brash when it came to bedroom behavior, but hearing it directed at you was more arousing than anything you'd heard from other boys.

It became clear Sebastian was tired of touching your clothed form. He quickly tugged at the hem of your skirt and wrestled it from your hips, leaving you in only your panties until those also found the marble floor.

“This isn’t fair,” you protested, eyeing Sebastian’s fully-clothed frame. You felt like prey presented on a pedestal for a predator.

“And whose fault is that?” he teased as he held his arms outward. “I’m not stopping you.”

You rolled your eyes in response and made a move for the hem of his jumper, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. You stilled. Sure, you’d seen Sebastian shirtless on a few summer afternoons of swimming, but you never thought you’d have the chance to touch his bare chest. Your stare clung to his toned arms and chest, and you couldn’t help but smile at the freckles that scattered across his skin. Someday, you’d take the time to familiarize yourself with those constellations, but not now. Now, you were far too greedy for such sweet moments.

“Seb,” you whined. “I need you. I need you to show me how it feels... how you feel.”

Sebastian was overcome by a warm flood of energy. His hands snapped to your waist and he hoisted you onto the desk, your legs dangling off the ledge as he fidgeted with his belt. When it clanked open, you reached for his waistband, shoving everything to the floor.

The ache within your core blazed when his cock bobbed against your thigh. You shifted impatiently atop the desk, your cunt still wet from your antics in the Trophy Room. 

You were a viper ready to sink your teeth into sustenance.

But you had to touch him, to know how his smooth length felt in your hand. You reached for him and stroked slowly, the pads of your fingers tracing over every ridge. Sebastian swore under his breath at your touch. You wished you could leave fingerprints over his flesh.

Sebastian’s own fingers found their way between your thighs and swiped across your entrance. He groaned at the feeling of your wet folds and sank two fingers inside you. 

“Sebastian,” you moaned, unsure if you were relieved by his touch or annoyed he was only offering you his fingers when you were desperate for more. But when he pumped his hand, you decided you’d never doubt him again.

You rested back on your hands to support yourself, your walls clenching around Sebastian’s fingers, anxious to incite another release. By now, you were certain you’d only ever experience such a sensation with him. You didn’t want it from anyone else anyway.

When he withdrew his hand, you pouted in protest. He sucked his fingers and smirked at you, eyes shining with anticipation. 

“Don’t pout, darling,” Sebastian laughed. “I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

He leaned over you, hands flat atop the desk on either side of your hips while he kissed you. And while you appreciated Sebastian’s tender side, you were certain you were going to spontaneously combust if he didn’t splay you out across that desk soon.

Your thighs tightened around his torso and you could feel him smirk against your lips. 

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he teased. 

“And you’re being insufferable,” you whined. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Sebastian cooed. “Let’s make you feel good, shall we?”

Before you could agree, Sebastian was prying your knees apart and lining his cock against your entrance. You held your breath, every nerve ending on high alert for this climactic moment. He sank into you with an impressive air of self-restraint. You felt impossibly tight at first and willed your body to relax to accommodate him.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight,” he groaned.

You wanted to pause the moment, to freeze time to appreciate this monumental step in your timeline with Sebastian. It had been three years in the making; three years of tension, longing and torment. It meant something to you both.

But now wasn't the time for sappy sentiments or histrionics. Now, all you wanted was to claim Sebastian Sallow as the keeper of your entire being.

He pressed deeper until a low moan escaped your lips. It seemed to reassure him and he pulled back, his cock dragging against your stretched walls slowly. He repeated the motion until he was thrusting you gently, testing your limits until he reached the hilt. Blood rushed to your ears, ringing a loud and intrusive symphony as your pulse raced. Your cunt felt so full, you gnawed at your bottom lip.

Soon, you were resting back on your elbows as Sebastian gripped your hips. He drove inside you with a steady rhythm, hands holding you in place on the desktop. 

“God, you’re so good,” Sebastian panted. When you moaned in response, his pace hastened. His hips jutted forward with more force until you were flat on your back, breasts bouncing with every movement and legs locked around Sebastian's torso. Parchment rustled beneath you and quills pricked your back, but you paid them no mind. The only sensation you could feel was the mounting pressure within your walls.

Sebastian groaned at the vision of your cunt swallowing his slick cock. He'd conjured the sight in quiet solitude, but no fantasy could replicate the squeeze of your tight heat or the submissive whimpers tumbling from your lips.

It was surely the most obscene display to ever occur within the walls of the sacred headmaster’s office; you, sprawled across the desktop, your mouth hanging open in ecstasy while Sebastian fucked you harder than you’d ever experienced. 

Your hitching gasps were soon joined by the steady symphony of slapping skin when Sebastian pulled your legs together, hugging them against his own shoulder as he pounded you harder. 

“That’s it,” he panted above you as your toes curled and walls squeezed at the change in angle. You were most certainly going to be sore in the morning, but you’d commit every Unforgivable Curse a hundred times over before you allowed this to stop. Not before you discovered how it felt to fall apart around Sebastian.

The crude noises echoing from your union could only be rivalved by the absolute filth spilling off your tongue. You begged Sebastian to fuck you harder, treat you rougher, all while you used the name of every spiritual power in vulgar vain. Sebastian Sallow was the only higher power you cared to worship anyway.

Sebastian gazed at you, half-lidded, with lust and love. Your moans became short wails as his cock drove upward, prodding the sensitive spot within your front wall. You could hear your body’s slick response. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t ever stop.”

“Don’t plan to,” Sebastian panted. “You’re mine, remember?”

“Yours,” you answered, your voice a broken stutter. Your nails scraped against the top of the wood desk, your body growing more rigid as you willed it to release. You’d never been so full, and your stretched walls were strained around Sebastian’s cock, threatening to seize. 

He pumped faster, his jaw clenched in concentration while you quivered and writhed beneath him. The pressure was blooming within your core, and you felt the knot inside you ready to unravel. 

“Seb, I think I’m close,” you breathed. It was more of a plea than a warning.

Sebastian dropped your legs, allowing them to drape over the edge of the desk again as his hands returned to your hips. He pulled himself hard against you until he found another rhythmic pattern, his hips rolling forward as his thumb found your clit. You gasped in response to the dual sensations, your cunt constricting around Sebastian’s cock in preparation for your release. 

Your chest heaved and your moans became louder as Sebastian drove inside you, his thumb swiping at your clit until you were screaming his name. He dabbed his cock upward, pressing firmly into your sweet spot.

With a shrill shriek, your back arched and your legs spasmed, your walls pulsing with your climax. You thrashed against the desktop as your cunt surged and Sebastian continued to thrust you through your grand finale. Your eyes saw spots until the quivering within your walls calmed. 

But the vision triggered Sebastian’s own unraveling. He yanked your hips flush with his as he grunted and spilled inside you, his fingers pressing firm into your sides with every pulse until his knees threatened to give out.

As the office drifted back into focus, you gazed upward at the ceiling, in disbelief of what you had just done, but more stunned that you’d done it with Sebastian. But he was yours now, and the notion that your future together now held much more possibility made you positively giddy. You blinked up at him with heavy eyelids, your head still spinning in a post-orgasm haze as you watched him with adoration.

He smirked at you and extended a hand to help you from the desk. You slid to your feet and began gathering your clothing when you felt his arms latch around you from behind.

“Hold on now,” he hummed in your ear. “You’re okay, right?”

You spun to face him, the corners of your lips tugging upward in an amused smile. “Sebastian, I can barely stand upright after the way... the way my legs were shaking. How could I be anything other than okay?” you laughed. Sebastian looked satisfied with himself. Typically, you’d say something snarky, perhaps shove him away with playful banter to knock his ego down a few notches. But right now, you were too smitten, too elated to be anything but authentically, unequivocally exhilarated.

“Just checking,” Sebastian said with a shrug, one of his fingers twirling a lock of your hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but it felt entirely different. Now, it meant something.

“We should get out of here,” you finally said, your eyes scanning the office once more.

“Oh? I was starting to grow fond of the place,” Sebastian mused. “Was thinking we could spend the night in Black’s bed chamber.”

“Try explaining that one to Professor Weasley.”

“She’d probably resign on the spot.” 

The two of you hurried from the office and returned to the Trophy Room, where Duncan was still on the floor. Sebastian glanced at his pocket watch and flicked his wand. “Scourgify.” The trophies and their display cases sparkled. 

You moved to fetch one of the cleaning rags you’d left on the floor when Sebastian caught your arm. “Just so we’re clear,” he started, “We… you and I… Are we…”

“Not backing out on me now, are you?” you teased.

“No!” Sebastian said quickly. “I just… wanted to be sure this is all real.”

“Sebastian,” you deadpanned. “My undergarments are ruined, I’m fairly certain I have quill marks on my back, and I’m certain I won’t be able to walk come morning. So yes, this is very real.”

"But you and I... we're..." He rubbed the back of his neck and you couldn't help but smirk at his discomfort. "We're more than friends now, right?"

"Do mere friends do what we just did?"

"I mean, some do."

"Well, I happen to be a lady of honor and dignity," you said matter-of-factly, drawing a snort from Sebastian. "And I don't do those things without a little commitment."

"Believe me, I'm all yours."

"Good."

Sebastian looked delighted, but before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor. 

“Goodness!” Professor Weasley exclaimed as she scurried toward Duncan. “What happened?”

You and Sebastian swapped a glance. “There you are, Professor!” Sebastian exclaimed, his voice feigning urgency. “We were just about to come looking for you!”

“What have you done to Mr. Hobhouse?” 

“We didn’t have a choice!” Sebastian insisted innocently. You clenched your jaw to suppress a laugh. Even after years of witnessing Sebastian’s charm and charisma, you were still impressed. “Duncan was trying to sneak through the Trophy Room. Tried to bribe us to keep quiet. Said something about sneaking into Professor Black’s office! We were going to come find you to let you know, but we didn’t want him to get away so we used Petrificus Totalus. I'm sorry, Professor!”

You prayed your face wasn’t flushed from fighting to maintain your composure. Professor Weasley’s sharp gaze shifted from Sebastian to you, and you immediately wore an expression of faux concern.

“And did Mr. Hobhouse say why he was trying to enter the headmaster’s office?” she asked.

“No, Professor,” you said, offering your own air of innocence. Though you weren’t as silver-tongued as Sebastian, you’d certainly learned a thing or two from him. “He was mumbling some nonsense about looking for a book of student names? Said something about wanting to ensure only purebloods would be admitted to Hogwarts. I’ve no idea what he was referring to.”

Professor Weasley’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Book of Admittance. You made a mental note to explain to Sebastian later how you'd once stumbled upon it as you caught his eye and he shot you a confused frown.

“I see,” Professor Weasley said slowly. She turned to look at Duncan, who was still motionless on the floor. “That is a very serious offense, Mr. Hobhouse. You’ll be serving a month of detention, and the headmaster will be made aware of this. As for you two, you’re free to go.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” you and Sebastian said in unison, too smart to linger any longer. Sebastian winked at Duncan as you passed his lifeless form and retreated toward the staircase.

“Hope we didn’t leave any evidence in Black’s office,” Sebastian muttered quietly as you continued downward. “Hobhouse will surely try to spin his own tale once Weasley removes the body-bind spell.”

“Oh, I might have left something behind,” you said with a smirk. Sebastian turned to look at you in panicked alarm and you unleashed a flippant giggle.

“Don’t worry,” you assured him. “We’re in the clear.”

“Then what’d you leave behind?”

You flashed Sebastian a proud grin. “Duncan’s wand.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Damn Good Drinks

summary: An unfortunate mistake rewards you with a fortunate encounter, and this undercover soldier is nothing like you could have expected.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: meet-cute, alcohol mentions/consumption, mentions of harassment, flirting, suggestiveness, protective hunter, one (1) gratuitous steamy kiss, tech is always at the scene of the crime, pre-tcw s7

rating: T

word count: 3.556k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

It was another rowdy crowd tonight. You really should’ve known, considering the fact that the tourist season was nearly upon your town already. With the war still raging on in the galaxy, people were flocking here by the hundreds, eager to get away from the conflict on their own homeworlds.

You heaved a sigh as you carefully balanced the tray of drinks you’d just collected from the bar. Wrestling your way through these crowds was far from your favorite thing to do, but it was better than being stuck behind the bar itself for countless hours. It was, ironically, safer this way, too. Not that you could ever fully escape the wandering eyes, comments, and even the touches, but the freedom to run or fight if necessary was a comfort nonetheless.

Pitiful little excuse mes wouldn’t do you any good out here, so you simply announced your presence by jutting your elbows and shoulders into the people you were trying to pass. You could at least finally see the table you were heading for, which was a gift in a crowd this thick, especially at such a late hour.

You were just thinking about how excited you were to finally go home for the night when you suddenly heard a commotion beside you.

“Hey, watch where’ur goin’!”

“No, you watch it!”

You rolled your eyes. There was nothing quite like a classic ego-off. Hopefully, they both lost—and hopefully, they kept you out of it.

But you should’ve known better than to think you’d actually have good luck with that.

The guy closest to you got shoved by the other, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. Caught in the crossfire, you were also shoved right into something solid, hard enough to make every drink on your tray splatter on you and whatever, or whoever, you’d run into.

Unfortunately, you were in the center of the cantina, so it couldn’t have been a wall. It had to have been a person, a patron who was most likely going to want to fight you, now.

You were about to curse the pair of egotistical maniacs out when you suddenly realized the person you’d run into was steadying you with a hand on your elbow and another on your opposite arm.

“You alright?”

You spun around to face them, but you were too distracted by the fact that nearly the entire front of their white shirt was now stained in the purple hue of one of the drinks you’d been carrying. 

You let out a worried gasp and reached from the rag you kept tucked into your pocket. “I’m so sorry, sir! Let me get that for you.” As you tried your best to dry and blot out the stain in the patron’s shirt, you couldn’t help muttering in contempt. “Kriffing boys spilling some damn good drinks over a pointless ego battle…”

You only stopped when you realized that your efforts were to no avail; this poor person’s shirt was stained for good. You let out a sigh, but the breath got caught in your throat when you blinked a few times and realized exactly what, or who, you were looking at.

You weren’t trying to ogle this man, you really weren’t, but it was hard when the first thing your eyes were stuck to was the sight of the now-transparent fabric of his sleeveless tunic clinging to perhaps the most toned set of muscles you had ever seen before in your life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the more you observed, the more you were convinced that you weren’t actually being hyperbolic.

The man’s face was just as sculpted as the rest of him, though half his face was cast in the dark shadow of what looked like a giant skull tattoo, matching the one that was printed on his red bandana. That matched the scarf hung around his neck, fabric that his dark, shoulder-length hair was brushing against. He still had his hands on you, which were wrapped up to his elbows in a light-colored fabric, but the touch was soft enough to indicate that he meant no harm.

Thank the Force that the last thing you caught were his eyes, because you wouldn’t have been able to look away if you’d done that first.

“‘Damn good drinks,’ huh?” The corners of the man’s mouth started to rise as his brown gaze flickered over you. “Do they taste as good as they look on you?”

Your brow shot up at that. Maybe it was the mere fact you were attracted to him, or that you couldn’t sense any ill intent like you could with the others, but you weren’t disgusted by his advances.

No, they made the temperature in the room rise to a really dangerous height.

You returned the once-over and offered a thoughtful hum. “Maybe, but they definitely don’t taste as good as they look on you, so don’t be too disappointed.” You huffed and focused on righting the capsized cups on your tray. “Can I get you one as a token of apology?”

The man shifted slightly in front of you, and with a quick glance, you realized he was blocking you from getting hit by another shove that came from a new direction. He absorbed the movement as if it were nothing. You furrowed your brow, watching as his arms and shoulders barely flexed at the motion.

Suddenly, you were realizing that this had to be the body of a soldier. But he obviously wasn’t a droid, and he certainly didn’t look like a clone…

“You don’t owe me an apology.” He nodded, making the stray hairs that stuck out of his bandana bounce against his forehead. “Wasn’t really my brightest idea to wear a white shirt to a place like this, anyway.”

You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, thank the Force you did.” You winked and gestured with your head towards the bar. “Can I still get you that drink, anyway?”

He smiled. “Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”

You looked down when warmth started to rush into the tips of your ears. That downward glance could only last a moment, because soon, you had to shove your way through the rowdy crowd. Amazingly, though, they started to part much more easily for you, and it only took a quick look behind you to realize why.

This man was just about shoving everyone aside and casting warning glances to anyone who dared to react to it. Even just the way he was walking screamed danger to a potential opponent.

He was definitely a soldier, but for who or what, you weren’t sure. At this point, you really didn’t care, because your heart was speaking a lot louder than your brain when it came to him.

You brought him to the furthest edge of the bar, a private enough corner where you could get behind it and make him a drink yourself. You’d still have to remake the ones you spilled, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t really your biggest priority right now. They could wait a few extra minutes.

“So…” you stole a glance up at him, “you got a name?”

He huffed and rested his wrapped forearms upon the bartop, leaning forward enough for you to hear him over the din of the rowdy patrons. “You can just call me Hunter.”

You hummed and stared more than you really had to at the cups you tossed between your hands. “Is that what you are?”

“A bounty hunter?” He scoffed. “Have I made that bad of an impression on you already?”

You laughed at that. Only someone operating under some kind of honor code would have such a strong distaste for bounty hunters. You had no doubt now that you knew what he was.

“Then what’s a soldier like you doing out here, so far away from the front lines?”

“Who says I’m a soldier?”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, Hunter. Maybe it’s the giant tactical pack you’ve got slung on your back, or those heavily-trained arms you’ve clearly put on display.”

A light sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as the corners of his lips rose in a subtle smirk. “You seem to know a lot about arms.”

You returned his mischievous smile. “Only because I like staring at yours.” You nodded towards his stained shirt. “You want the drink that was spilled on you, or the one that got on me?”

Hunter looked down at himself and circled his jaw. He shrugged before he lifted his head and met your gaze again. “You choose.”

You considered his words for a moment as you searched his eyes. In the lighting of the bar, they glowed more amber, which only made them even more captivating. You fought not to lose yourself within them as you ultimately nodded. “Alright.”

You focused on getting all the right ingredients together, all the while sensing the heat of his gaze on you. Fighting back another smile, you decided to question him further.

“Care to explain why you don’t look like a clone when you clearly are one?”

“So long as you tell me why your heart’s beating so fast.”

That gave you pause. He was right—your heart hadn’t stopped hammering against your chest ever since you got your first good look at him—but there was no way he would know that without feeling your pulse himself, or at least taking a strangely accurate guess.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you gripped the glass and shaker tighter in your hands. “How would you even know that?”

Hunter’s brow lifted. “Would you call me crazy if I told you that it actually answers your first question?”

You relaxed again and gave him a nod. “Fine, you’ve got my interest.” You tried to calm your racing heart, if only out of spite.

“I’m an enhanced clone. My squad and I were each given different traits that are ‘desirable’ in soldiers.”

You spared him a single glance. Thankfully, he didn’t look uncomfortable discussing this. That wasn’t your end goal, even if you did at least want to know what you were getting yourself into. “And what does that have to do with my heartbeat?”

Hunter chuckled. “Well, I’m named after my enhancement.”

As you shook the concoction inside the mixer, you pondered his words. A hunter, and a heartbeat…  and shoving people aside before they’d even come close to you…

“You’re telling me you can… hear my heartbeat?”

Hunter’s head bobbed. “In a way.” He tapped his fingers along the bartop. “Enhanced senses. My strong suit is electromagnetic frequencies, but I can pick up on some organic things, too.” He nodded at you. “The louder a heartbeat, the easier it is for me to hear it.”

You pretended to scowl for the sake of your dignity as you strained the drink into his glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to have a racing heart in a place like this.”

Hunter hummed. “That’s fair.” He gestured with a thumb to the crowds behind him. “Is it always like this?”

You exhaled heavily and shook your head. “It wasn’t before, but the longer the war goes on, the worse it gets. We’re an escape for a lot of people, it seems.”

You picked up the glass and slid it over to him.

“Here. Let me know what you think.”

Before you could pull your hand off the glass, Hunter placed his there, his fingers brushing yours as they drifted by one another. You caught his stare, and you could’ve sworn he sent you the quickest wink you’d ever seen before he drew his first sip.

And there went all chances of slowing down your racing heart. He was certainly gonna notice that with his apparent enhanced senses. Damn it.

You tasked yourself with remaking the other patrons’ drinks while Hunter offered his review. “It is damn good.” He shrugged in your periphery. “But still not as good as it looks on you.”

You laughed. “Well, that’s because it’s the one I spilled on you.” You spared him a quick glance of approval. “So something must be wrong with your ‘enhanced’ taste buds.”

You enjoyed watching him hide his new flush by taking another sip of the drink, but the weight of his identity was beginning to settle in. A clone soldier, an enhanced one, was here. That had to mean the war wouldn’t be far behind.

“Since you’re here,” you paused for a second as you shook another drink, “does that mean I should be getting ready for the war to come to my doorstep?”

Hunter grew more serious as he shook his head. “No. You’re safe here.” He gestured towards the cantina’s only entrance. “We’re just gathering some intel.”

“‘We’?” You smiled down at the drinks. “So, that squad of yours is around here, too?”

“Not here, but yeah, they’re on-world.”

With the drinks now finished, you set them on the tray and took a second to look Hunter in the eye. There was something here, and there was a lot he was giving you—and you needed to know what the real reasoning was behind it.

“Why are you telling me all this, Hunter?” You tilted your head at him. “Seems like pretty confidential information for a random civilian like me to know.”

Hunter held your stare even as he tipped his head back to empty out the rest of his glass. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a good judge of character.”

You blinked at him a few times before smiling. What a simple yet profound way of establishing trust.

Thankfully for him, he was right, and any of his secrets would die with you.

“Well, I’ve got to get these back over there, so…” You lifted the tray and glanced at the table at the far end of the cantina.

Hunter nodded and pushed himself off the bartop. You prepared to bid him farewell, but instead, he lingered. “I’ll clear a path for you this time.”

All you could muster was an appreciative glance before Hunter stepped forward and essentially pushed your way through the crowd. No one even got near you this time, certainly not close enough to make the drinks topple over. Hunter hung back once you eventually reached the table, and you quietly thanked him as you passed him.

“Here you are.” You kept your customer service voice engaged as you dealt out the drinks and smiled. “Sorry about the wait. It’s a bit crazy here tonight.”

The patrons just shrugged, clearly unaware of the extra few minutes you spent flirting with the enhanced clone trooper rather than making their drinks. You tucked the tray under your arm and turned around, surprised to see that Hunter was still there waiting for you.

You gave him another once-over. That drink stain on his shirt really stuck out like a bantha in a porg nest, if it was even possible for anyone’s eyes to get past his eyes, face, and arms.

The look he was giving you in return was either saying the same thing about your clothes or something very different, a little more similar to what you wanted him to be thinking.

“You know,” you took a step closer to him, “we should have some extra tunics from our uniforms in the back if you want one to cover…” you gazed down at his stain, “that.”

Hunter’s gaze glowed dangerously. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean, we could at least check.”

Hunter smirked as he echoed your question from earlier. “We’?”

You waved him off. “It’s too crazy here tonight for anyone to care that you’re back there.”

Hunter shrugged. Apparently, he was easily convinced. “Alright. Where’re we headed?”

You pointed at a door on the back wall, and Hunter nodded before he pushed through the crowd once again. At this point, it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t listening to your heart practically flying through your chest. You didn’t even know why this was happening, especially so fast, but you had to echo Hunter’s earlier sentiment: you were a good judge of character.

What was one stolen moment with an enhanced clone trooper?

Hunter stepped aside to let you key in the passcode on the doorway of the storage room, and once it slid open, you led the way inside. After verifying that you were alone, you waved Hunter in. The door closed behind him, and after securing it, you turned to him.

It would’ve been impossible to get a good look at him in the dimness of the space, anyway, but you were both gravitating to each other before any looks could be given. You cupped his chiseled jaw at the exact moment he held your waist, closing the gap between the two of you and giving into the magnetic pull that had first forced you two together in the night’s rowdy crowds.

And you had never been more grateful for two egotistical maniacs’ stupid quarrel before.

Hunter kissed you like he’d known you for ages, exuding a breathless amount of passion that should’ve been impossible for a soldier as seasoned as himself. All you could do was try to match that energy, parting your lips and surely making a mess of the hair he clearly wanted to grow beyond what you assumed was regulation. You let one hand stay there, but the other was too curious, tracing the same lines of muscle your eyes had been beholden to ever since you first saw him.

During a quick break for air, you pulled back until you hit the wall behind you, this time urging him even closer than before. The second his mouth was on yours, you lost all sense of anything else, only able to think about the warmth you found there—and the feeling of his hips caressing yours in the very same rhythm.

You weren’t sure exactly how those senses of his worked, but somehow, he was igniting every single one of yours in a way you’d never experienced before.

You were in the middle of lowering your hands from his neck to seek a more fervent exploration when he caught both your wrists, holding them in an achingly gentle yet firm grasp as he lifted them over your own head. When he pushed himself into you even more intensely, his tongue in your mouth and his hips on yours, you could feel it so much more without being distracted by touching the rest of him.

Yeah, this was definitely a man who understood senses.

You were stuck between proposing and offering him all your possessions when the sudden chiming of a comlink sounded from Hunter’s belt. The two of you broke apart with heavy breaths, his forehead still close enough to yours for you to feel the wisps of his hair brushing against your skin as he clearly fought the urge to sigh.

“Sorry. Give me just a second.”

Hunter’s voice, which was already fairly rough as it was, was even rougher from your passionate moment as he released your wrists and stepped away. You couldn’t have stopped watching him even if you wanted to as he unclipped the comlink and activated it.

“Tech, report.”

“I have acquired the necessary data.” You raised your brow at the voice that spoke on the other end of Hunter’s comm. They sounded even less like a clone than Hunter himself did. “We may make our egress, unless there is any additional research you wish to pursue.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a loose end I want to tie up.” You scoffed at that. Loose end? “We'll meet back at the Marauder.”

“Affirmative.”

Hunter sighed as he set the comlink back on his belt. “Sorry about that.” He ran a hand over his head. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Gotta’ tie up your loose end, now.”

Hunter froze before he let out a heavy exhale. “Kriff, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, you’ve done better than most by catching it so fast.”

Hunter chuckled and stepped back over to you. “Here.”

He took something from his belt and reached for your hand, setting it inside your palm and closing your fist around it. It was something circular and metallic, judging by how cool it was against your skin.

“To keep in touch.” Hunter nodded at you. “Next time, the drink’s on me.”

“It was technically already on you this time.” You gestured with your eyes to his stained shirt.

Hunter huffed with amusement. “You know what I mean.”

You smiled at him. “Sure.”

You opened the door for him, and he stopped to give you a wink you wouldn’t miss this time before he disappeared into the thick of the crowd. You leaned your shoulder against the threshold, staring down at the communicator in your grasp. Biting back a smile, you slipped it inside your pocket.

Maybe there was an advantage to the war getting a little closer, after all.

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020 @singularattitudeofasafetypin

[nachocheezos21]

[ top 10 c00lgui tricks in forsaken !!1! ]

Tags and Warnings: [MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!], [Angst], [Murder], [Parental Guilt], [Child Death], [Father-Son Relationship] // Word Count: 1,180 // [Originally uploaded to AO3; inspired by @dinofur’s comic!—go check ‘em out!! ^_^]

As thunder loomed above and specks of rain dropped over their heads, a distraught 007n7 had his eyes and mouth agape in horror as the poor father witnessed the horrific scene before him. “Sh-Shedletsky...” 007n7 choked, as the lifeless body of his son cradled in his arms—a large slash on the back of the lifeless boy as his once gentle hands clung onto him in comfort.

“He’s dead, Seven,” Shedletsky remarked, casting his sword to the side. “Turn back to your senses, young man. We are in a great amount of danger, and you know well that he’ll—“

“He’s not like them!” the father rebutted, his teeth gritting from the sheer anger. “My boy is not like those..those killers! H-he’s just..he doesn’t know what he’s doing, alright, John?!”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Seven! Your son had literally tried to kill the entire group!” the man shouted as he waved his hand around in grave annoyance. Their party, as they treated one another, could only watch as the scene unfolded before their eyes. “Both Chance and I had to fend it off every time its minions came out to follow everyone’s move,” he continued, “Elliot nearly died, and Two Time is already serving their second life, and you know damn well how that’s going for them!”

“I-I know that, John! I’m not stupid as you, or any of you, would like to think!” 007n7 shouted, though it didn’t seem like it was going through his head. His blocky hands continued to cradle his son, his mind reminiscing of when he was just a baby. Oh, sweet, innocent c00lkidd…

A tired, yet defeated, sigh escaped Shedletsky’s mouth as he sheathed his sword. “Look. I know you miss the poor kid, but you gotta let him go,” he addressed, “I mean look at him! He’s fleshy, and dangerous. At some point, you would’ve thought to just…you know? Gave up on trying to fix him.” Yet none of his words could pierce through the father’s stubborn mind. In fact, it seemed to have angered him a little.

“M-Mr. Shedletsky?” a nervous Elliot approached the swordsman, tapping his shoulder. “I think you’re being too harsh on him—”

“I’m not being too hard on him, Elliot. I’m just…” he hesitated to continue, only to sigh in defeat once more. “Fine. I’ll let him grief. It’s the least I could do to a father.”

Shedletsky turned to the rest, who were still watching the whole ordeal. “We might need to move out. c00lkidd might be…gone, but there are worse threats to come,” he exclaimed, before making his way to them as Builderman approached him for planning on their survival.

007n7 did not budge from his place. Elliot didn’t either, but he felt obligated to at least comfort him, despite their past encounters. “H-hey, Mister…I-I know things aren’t..fine as they are now, but…” the pizza boy choked out, as nervous fingers inched their way to touch the father’s shoulder. Unaware of the strange GUI that popped up in the father’s palm.

“Wh-what?” Elliot gulped as a bead of sweat dropped from his forehead. It was as if in the blink of an eye, 007n7 disappeared. Teleported to…well, somewhere.

Oh man, how will he explain this to the two?

It rained that night.

007n7 was merely entertaining himself from news of his exploits all throughout the plains. A notorious man with a notorious hobby, enjoying the chaos as it went. Was it annoying? Sure. Harmful? Depends on who you ask.

As he was scrolling from news story after news story, the doorbell rang in surprise, causing him to raise his head up. “Huh,” he mused, confused on who might be needing his attention at this time of night; not to mention, the heavy rain outside. Hesitantly, 007n7 sat his ass up from the couch and made his way over to the front door.

Upon opening the door, the man did his usual of looking left to right to left to right. He would’ve figured that it was nothing—a prank done by the kids of his unfortunate neighborhood—only to hear the sounds of a baby crying…underneath by his feet.

“Oh shit,” 007n7 remarked, picking up the crying toddler from the cardboard box that it settled in. And as if it was instinct, he immediately pulled on the box with his foot as he attempted to close the door. “What kind of guy would leave a kid in the middle of the night?” he scoffed, cradling the child in his arms as he attempted to calm it down.

To his surprise, however, it did eventually calm down. The warmth radiating off of the exploiter had managed to calm the baby down to a peaceful slumber—its mouth cooing from comfort as 007n7 looked at it in awe.

“Oh..” 007n7 mouthed. His hand gently brushed over its round cheek, only for the baby to react with a short, bubbly giggle. 007n7 could only giggle back, his heart flaring with affection as he continued to play with the child.

He was a hypocrite—making fun of the others for their parental decisions, only for him to be burdened with the responsibility. Besides, it wasn’t like him to be so…empathetic all of a sudden. The notorious exploiter in all of Robloxia, only for him to show affection to a child.

Pathetic.

007n7 could only shake his head from the thoughts of his contradiction. “I’ve been naive,” he mumbled, his brows creasing as he took another glance at the now-sleeping child before him. Gently, he placed the baby down onto his bed, sitting down beside him as he made a silent vow to himself. “I’ll do better. I-I’ll stop exploiting if it means protecting a thing like you,” 007n7 spoke, a smile—one that is genuine—made its way to his lips.

Memories flooded in 007n7’s mind as he clung to his son after teleporting out of the graveyard and into a cave. Thunder continued to grumble outside as rain poured heavily outside of the dark cavern. It didn’t matter to him how the others were doing after the whole mess with c00lkidd—what mattered was how they dealt with him.

Oh, sweet, innocent c00lkidd.

Tears continued to swell and pour from his tired eyes, his mind still stubborn from the unfortunate events prior as a series of memories of watching his son grow from the once abandoned child to an energetic and playful kid he’s always loved. He’s already lost his son from the malice that confused him, and he is not ready to lose him from the hands of his comrades.

“Oh, gods,” 007n7 sobbed, hugging his boy tight—his tears mixing with the blood from his lifeless body. “I-I’m so sorry. Oh gods, I’m so sorry. My poor boy…my poor baby…”

While the others knew that it was for the best, given their current situation, 007n7 could not accept such a thing. Yet he could not do anything to change the outcome; only grieve and wallow in his sorrows.

[Notes from the author//artist]: WELL HELLO UH . i’m so embarrassed to upload this just now bc the banner art took me so long i had to scratch it and redo it to the one we have now. and yes! i do recognise the original comic’s idea of trapping c00lkidd just so he DIES, but i wrote this before i could even begin to realise it so ehe whoopsie + wrote this before PLEAD became a thing so 007n7 may be a little I’M SORRY—.. also i’ve already mentioned this before but this was uploaded to ao3 first so if you’ve seen it there originally, haii i was the author of it (and c00l mirror) heaheahe

will be uploading the banner art separately as well here so !!!!

[kisskuni]

nightmares

↳ how they comfort you after a nightmare [demon brothers x gn!reader]

tags: hurt/comfort, nightmares, mentions of anxiety, reader gets called pretty in mammon’s, descriptions of a nightmare in belphie’s (kinda gory idk), mild swearing

notes: requested by ⭐️ anon! i think i changed the prompt slightly but i didn’t realize until i was halfway through im so sorry ;-; also i knowww asmo can’t charm mc but we’re pretending

lucifer ━━━

lucifer sleeps light. he always has — it was probably a survival skill he picked up in his earlier days against his brothers or something along those lines. this time, however, he didn’t wake up to mammon and satan going at each other’s throats in the hallway.

no, this time he woke up to you trembling and mumbling beside him.

he couldn’t entirely make out what you were saying, but he knew your dream wasn’t a happy one. the way your brows were pinned, the way your hand gripped the pillow for purchase, the slight frown on your lips… it was clear to him you were having a nightmare.

his touch was soft as he shook your shoulder lightly, his thumb rubbing little circles against your skin.

“y/n… wake up.” he spoke, voice rough with sleep but still laced with something soft and gentle.

your eyes snapped open with a wild fear, your grip on the pillow case growing tighter. when your gaze finally fell to him, your eyes soften and the muscles of your body relaxed. it didn’t change the way you panted though, lungs burning with the need to get air in, as if you had just ran miles without actually leaving the bed.

lucifer’s brows pinned, his hand coming up to gently hold your arm. “you’re alright, just breathe for me, darling.”

your eyes slip closed as you move toward him, this time your hand gripping the front of your shirt and you press your forehead against his collarbone. his hand comes up to rub up and down you back, trying to soothe you. he plants a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, cradling you against his chest.

“you’re alright, it’s just a nightmare.” he says. his voice is less gravelly this time, but still holds a firm yet calm tone.

you nod, though your body is still clinging to his and your face is still buried in his chest as though he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

if you want to talk about it, he’ll listen. either way, it’ll be a while before he can sleep. he’ll keep casting glances at you, long after you’ve fallen back asleep, making sure nothing else is wrong before he can finally settle again.

he’ll never let you know that, no matter how many sleepless nights he gets.

mammon ━━━

shaking mammon awake because you crying of a nightmare wasn’t something you were about to brag about, but you were doing it anyway.

tears streamed down your face and your hands shook beyond concealment, his name falling off your lips in a soft, broken voice. it takes him a moment to wake up. his face scrunches and a groan leaves him as he tries to get a hold on being awake. however, when his eyes find yours, he sits up quickly.

his hands move to cup your face. the pads of his thumb run across your cheeks, trying (and failing) to wipe away your tears.

his voice was soft and quiet and caring when he spoke. “no, no, no… hey, what’s wrong? you’re too pretty to cry, come on, what happened?”

you try to speak but all that comes out is a broken, unintelligible noise.

he moves to pull you against his chest. his hold around you is tight and sure; not enough to restrict you, but enough to ground you. he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, whispering soft assurances under his breath.

when you finally pull back, worry is still written across his face. “what happened?”

“nightmare.” you say simply.

his eyes soften just slightly, though the worry is still evident. he nods and brings his hand back up to cup your face. his fingers spear through your hair and his thumb rubs softly against the skin of your cheek.

“i’m sorry, are you okay?”

you nod, once again not trusting your voice.

“you’re a terrible liar.” he gives you a soft smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. he’s trying to lighten the mood for your sake, and maybe a little of his own.

despite the circumstances, you give him a shaky, breathless laugh.

he presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before moving to lay back down and patting the bed beside himself. “come on, lay down. we can talk about it, would that make you feel better?”

you take a deep breath and move to lay back down. under mammon’s sheets, with his eyes watching you with such concern and worry and genuine adoration, it’s hard to feel so quick panicked.

leviathan ━━━

you screamed. leviathan screamed. he also almost pushed you out of his bathtub, but that part is irrelevant.

you both lay there for a moment watching each other with wild eyes, chests rising and falling heavily. finally, levi speaks.

“are you… okay?”

he’s not entirely sure what happened, why you screamed, but he figures it wasn’t good. you still seemed so tense and your hands white knuckled the blanket. a thin layer of sweat coated your skin and if he didn’t know better, he’d say you were crying.

you swallow thickly and suck in another sharp breath, still panting. “i had- i had a nightmare.”

his eyes soften. so that’s what happened.

he settles back against his pillow. eyes now filled with worry instead of confusion (and maybe a little fear), he speaks again. “are you… are you gonna be okay?”

you nod, and settle back against your own pillow. a part of him wants to pull you into his chest and whisper assurances into your ear, hold you close and never let you go. but he’s not sure if you want that, if you’d be okay with that, not sure if you’d be offended by him even asking. so instead, he does none of that.

“do you wanna… talk about it?” he asks tentatively.

you take a moment to respond, trying to decide if you should or not. “it was- it was stupid.” you finally say.

he pins his brows and shakes his head. “it wasn’t. you were scared, you’re still shaken up.”

he’s right. you know he’s right.

“okay… yeah, but just… give me a second.” you say, still trying to calm your own racing heart before you tell him about the nightmare you had. you wonder for a moment if maybe the nightmare was stupid — looking back, it was a little odd to feel so scared about, but at the time you weren’t fully aware you were dreaming, so-

his hand comes down to yours, the simple touch pulling you out of your thoughts. his fingers trace simple patterns against your skin, or thrum little imaginary beats, but the simple act is enough to keep your head from spinning.

satan ━━━

you’re convinced satan has some sort of intuition when it comes to you.

he had a habit of knowing when you were stressed, or anxious, or something had rubbed you the wrong way. at first you figured he was just perceptive, but it started happening whenever you weren’t near him, and you just came to the conclusion that it was some silly pact thing.

maybe that’s what woke him up. maybe that’s what made him wake you up. otherwise, he couldn’t really tell you why he woke you up. he just knew something was wrong.

his hand gently rubbed up and down your arm, his brows pinned with worry as he softly called your name. it took a moment for you to wake up, but when you did, your eyes flicked to him with a fear and desperation he wasn’t quite expecting.

his hand moved up to your face, running gentle fingers through your hair. “hey, hey… you’re alright.”

you take a breath and fall back against the pillow, blinking hard as you found your bearings. the familiar feeling of satan’s bed surrounded you, and your heart rate began to slow back down.

“thank you,” you say, though still a little breathless.

“yeah, of course.” satan responds. he pauses for a moment to let you collect yourself before speaking again. “was it a nightmare?”

“yeah.” you nod.

satan hums and falls back against the bed beside you. he snakes his arm around you, halfway pulling you against his chest. he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“i used to have them a lot. i don’t have them much anymore.” he says simply.

“yeah?” you ask, a little confused as to how he suddenly stopped having nightmares as much. “what happened?”

“you.”

asmodeus ━━━

you had kicked him, that’s what woke him up. at first he was a little upset; you had kicked him, after all. but when he saw the way you clung to the blanket wrapped around you and the fearful expression on your face, anything but worry and concern left him.

he tuts at you, hand gently combing through your hair.

asmo had the power of persuasion at his finger tips, at his voice. his charm never worked particularly well on you, not in the magical and hypnotic sense anyway, but he was hoping it would work well enough to pull you out of a nightmare or change it to something else.

he would wake you if he had to, but he knew you’d only be more conscious of the nightmare should you have to wake up directly from it. so he didn’t.

his voice was soft when he spoke, soft hand resting gently against your cheek. “shh… it’s okay, my dear. you’re alright.”

he watched your worried expression. it relaxed just slightly, but not enough.

“you’re alright. you’re okay, everything is perfect.” he spoke. several more assurances and praises fell from his mouth, and though you were asleep, they seemed to have an affect on you.

maybe, just maybe, his charm was working enough.

it took another few moments, but your expression of worry and fear and everything else had changed into one of happiness. a small smile crossed your sleepy face, and you nuzzle yourself against his pillow.

beelzebub ━━━

sleeping next to beel felt a lot more like sleeping on top of him. he was a big guy, and it was usually just a lot more comfortable to lay on him that snuggle up beside him.

(there were two occasions he had kicked you off the bed and you finally decided that you couldn’t crush the absolute beast of a demon under you, no matter your weight.)

but with his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, it was also hard not to wake him when you moved a bit too much.

a few too many flinches and small yelps into the night and beel was awake. his hand traced small patterns up and down your arm as he softly called your name.

when you didn’t wake, he rubbed against your side, this time a little rougher in hopes to wake you up.

it worked this time, and you sat up with a jolt. wild eyes found his face smiling softly at you, his hands still gently holding your sides.

“hi,” he said softly.

you hang your head and take a deep breath, calming your jumpy nerves before you speak breathlessly. “hey.”

he smiled. he gave your side a reassuring squeeze before he spoke again, “are you alright? have a nightmare?”

you nod again, staring down at him. you still wore the same worried expression you had in your sleep. one of his hands moved down to where one of yours was planted firmly on his chest, holding yourself up. he placed his hand over yours, his thumb lightly running across your fingers.

“do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

you seem to hesitate for a moment. he gives you another soft, encouraging smile before he places a hand against your upper back. he pulls you down against his chest and places his arms around you again.

“that’s okay,” he says. “calm down. and we can talk about it later if you want to.”

belphegor ━━━

your nightmare didn’t make sense.

it started off normal, fooling you into thinking you were having a regular day. it was the large creature made of bone and rotting flesh that threw you off.

it was bigger than any demon you’d met, with thick horns growing out of its head and its flesh falling off of its body is chunks. its skin was torn and — shit it decided you were it’s next target.

you tried to run, but there was a wall where the door would be. the windows slammed shut and locked. that wasn’t good.

however, before anything bad could happen, the creature stopped. it turned to stone from the bottom up, and then crumbled all at once. belphie stood behind it.

for a moment you wondered why the hell belphie had appeared in your dream.

“hey, you alright?” he asked, his voice soft and familiar but… strange. his voice boomed around you, but still sounded like it was under water.

oh. you hadn’t imagined belphie in your dream; he was dream walking and fell into yours.

“i’m okay.” you said. your voice felt strange.

“do you want me to wake you up?” he asked. you thought for a moment and then shook your head; you were sleeping fine everything else considered.

he nodded, planted a kiss to your forehead, and dissipated before you.

what the hell was that.

you thought it strange for the next couple of weeks when you hadn’t seemed to have even the slightest bad dream. that was, until you caught a glimpse of belphie in one of them. and then a few more.

it felt strange to be protected in a dream, but maybe that was a perk of being close to the very demon of sleep.

[marifilue]

Bite Me, I Dare You

Wordcount: 1.6k

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader (No use of y/n)

Oneshot: Biting Logan for a joke turned into a petty competition between the two of you

Tags: Fluffs, playful banter, established relationship, other X-Men characters appeared (Especially peter maximoff <3)

That was his words, not yours. Bite me, I dare you.

Oh boy, did he know how underestimating that sounded. So you bit him.

Right on the bicep, in the middle of the breakfast table, on that warm morning alongside the other X-Men members.

Logan was wearing that white tank top, his left bicep touching your shoulder, immediately looking like a chewable object. So you whipped your head around, burying your teeth deep into his toned bicep, making him flinch. His thigh bumped against the table in reflexes, startling everyone in what had been a peaceful morning. He let out a startled groan, eyeing you with furrowed brows as you grinned triumphantly.

The entire table turned their heads in your direction. Peter choked on his water, coughing into his fist. Scott, mid-cut, froze with his fork and knife still in hand. Ororo just shook his head. The rest of the team shifted awkwardly.

"Sorry," Logan muttered to the table as he bumped his left thigh against yours.

You bit back your smile, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team.

That was only an introduction to how the day would unfold—you took his words as a challenge you were eager to conquer. It was probably reverse psychology; maybe he secretly enjoyed being bitten by you, and your mission was to ruin that. Bite me, I dare you? What was he thinking...

As you walked back to your shared room, Logan’s broad back was just an arm’s reach ahead of you. The morning light filtered through the mansion’s windows, casting long shadows on the floor, the air still thick with the scent of coffee and syrup.

You quickened your pace.

Just as he turned the corner, you struck—sinking your teeth into his shoulder.

Logan let out a short grunt, his muscles tensing under your bite. His reaction was brief, but the warmth of his skin and the way his shoulder flexed beneath your teeth made you linger a second longer than necessary.

“Really?” His voice was low, rough—like the start of a growl.

You grinned against his tanktop before letting go, stepping back just in time to see his expression when he turned around. His brows were drawn together, lips pressed in something between amusement and irritation. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes—then it was gone.

You shrugged. “You dared me.”

His jaw twitched, like he was biting back a response, but he only exhaled through his nose and kept walking.

That was your first victory.

By the third day, Logan barely reacted.

You bit his arm while passing him in the hallway—he didn’t even pause his stride, just muttered a gruff, “Real mature.”

At dinner, you leaned in and nipped at his forearm. He only sighed, shooting you a look over his glass of whiskey before taking a slow sip.

This wasn’t working. You had to get to him.

On the fourth night, after training, Logan sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. The room was dimly lit, the scent of soap and warm skin filling the space. You crawled onto the mattress behind him, arms resting on his shoulders, pressing close as if you were getting comfortable.

Then you bit the back of his neck.

Logan jerked. A sharp inhale, followed by a low, warning growl. His grip tightened around the towel, knuckles turning white.

You pulled back, suppressing a laugh. “Oh? That one got you?”

His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch the way he frowned.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

Before you could process what he meant, he turned, grabbing your wrist.

And then he bit you.

It wasn’t harsh, just a firm press of his teeth against the side of your hand. His eyes locked onto yours as he did it, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.

You yanked your hand back. “Hey!”

Logan chuckled—an actual chuckle, deep and low. He push your body down to the mattress and pressed a chaste kiss on your lips before you could react. “What? You can dish it out but can’t take it?”

Oh. It was on.

The War Begins

The next morning, you struck first—teeth brushing against his bicep just as he pulled on a fresh shirt. His only reaction was a slow glance at you through the mirror, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed.

During breakfast, Logan tried to dodge, but your teeth caught the edge of his bicep anyway, making him jolt slightly, knocking his knee against the table, again.

At training, he got you back. Right in the middle of a spar, when you were both locked in a grapple, he dipped his head and bit your shoulder—not hard, but enough to make your breath hitch.

The worst was on the seventh day, there was a mission.

You were crouched behind a wrecked car, the twisted metal still warm from an earlier explosion. Smoke curled in the air, stinging your lungs, while distant gunfire rattled through the streets. The ground beneath you was littered with broken glass and shell casings, the air thick with the scent of burning oil and scorched concrete.

Logan was behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breathing steady despite the chaos. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, waiting for the signal.

“Stay still.” His voice was low, rough—barely above a whisper.

Before you could question it, Logan leaned in. And then his teeth sank lightly into the shell of your ear.

You flinched, body jerking involuntarily, and your hand tightened around your firearm. Your finger, resting just a little too close to the trigger, twitched—

The sharp crack of gunfire split the air.

A blur of silver shot past in an instant. Peter. The bullet zipped right through where he had been standing half a second ago, harmlessly pinging off the side of a rusted dumpster.

Peter reappeared a few feet away, eyes wide as he patted himself down. “Whoa—whoa, okay! Who’s out here trying to make me a ghost?” He looked around, blinking, before his gaze landed on you.

Then he saw who was next to you.

“Ohhh,” Peter said slowly, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Oh, this has Logan written all over it.”

You barely had time to open your mouth before a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Scott.

You winced.

“Did I just witness an accidental discharge because of—” He paused, like he couldn’t even stomach the words. “Because of whatever the hell you two were doing behind cover?”

You had never seen someone look simultaneously appalled and exhausted before, but Scott had somehow mastered it.

“It wasn’t—” you started, but Scott was already mid-rant.

“This is a mission! You know, where people are shooting at us?! Where we’re supposed to have discipline?! Not—” He gestured wildly at you. “Whatever this is!”

Peter, meanwhile, had his hands on his knees, absolutely cackling. “Oh, man. You almost shot me because Logan was getting handsy?”

“I wasn’t—” You turned to Logan, half hoping he’d step in, but of course, he just looked smug.

“You’re fine, aren’t ya?” Logan said to Peter, like that was supposed to be the end of it.

“That is not the point!” Scott practically exploded. “You two are insufferable!” He took a sharp breath. “I swear to God, if one more bullet fires because of your bullshit, I will personally—”

“You’ll what?” Logan cut in, amused.

Scott’s jaw clenched so tight you thought he might break a tooth. He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate you both.”

Peter gave a two-fingered salute. “Hey, love you too, buddy.”

Scott groaned like he wanted to walk into oncoming fire.

You, meanwhile, refused to look at Logan.

Refused.

By the time the mission ended, you’d bitten him twice more—one out of spite, the other just because you could.

The X-Men, however, were done with it.

At the debriefing, Professor Xavier sat at the head of the conference table, hands folded. You and Logan sat beside each other, your usual spots. The room was silent, the weight of an impending scolding heavy in the air.

Scott, seated across from you. Pietro, beside him immediately started coughing when he noticed Logan shift slightly toward you.

Ororo sighed, rubbing her temples.

Then, finally, Xavier spoke.

"Enough."

Both of you straightened.

“This has been going on for a while,” he said, his tone calm yet firm. “And now, it has become an unnecessary distraction during missions.”

You bit your lip. Logan exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms.

“My office. Both of you.”

You turned to Logan, expression blank, but your fingers itched with the urge to pinch his arm—or bite it.

“This is your fault.”

His response? A smirk—then a sharp press of his teeth against your forearm right in front of Xavier.

Scott audibly groaned.

You were so screwed.

The next ten minutes were a lecture about professionalism, teamwork, and not treating each other like chew toys while on duty. Logan took it with his usual blank expression, while you bit back the urge to argue that it wasn’t that big of a deal.

When you finally left, Logan stretched, rolling his shoulders like he had just woken up from a nap. “Well, that went about as expected.”

You shot him a look. “We’re officially on thin ice.”

His lips twitched, amused. Then, after a moment, he held out his hand. “Truce?”

You eyed his palm, then him. “You’re just gonna bite me the second I shake your hand.”

He raised an eyebrow, like he was offended by the mere suggestion. “Would I do that?”

You scoffed. “Yes.”

A beat of silence. Logan’s smirk softened just a little. “Alright. No more biting. On missions, at least.”

You huffed, but after a moment, you placed your hand in his, shaking once.

Then—sharp teeth grazed your knuckles. A quick bite, barely enough pressure to sting.

Your jaw dropped. “Logan!”

He was already walking away, chuckling to himself. “I said on missions.”

You stared after him, equal parts exasperated and… something else.

Truce, your ass.

[joaosnovia]

Can you do one of kenan liking reader who’s a family friend and can it be like reader is moving to Turin because she’s and influencer so she got a nice apartment and has to set up and kenan finds out by his mom and dad so he uses that to get closer to her (before he was shy) and then the end can be all you

❦ - match made in turin.

summary:: kenan has always had a crush on you but distance always held him back. you finally moved to turin, leaving a huge surprise.

warnings:: uhh none?

writers notes:: i have sm kenan requests i love it

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp

kenan yildiz had a crush.

a long, painfully obvious, yet entirely unspoken crush.

it had started when he was younger, back when you were just ‘a family friend’, someone he saw at gatherings, during summer vacations, or whenever your families crossed paths. back then, he’d been too shy to talk to you much. and even now, despite growing older, despite playing for one of the biggest clubs in italy, despite all the confidence he had on the pitch, when it came to you, kenan still found himself fumbling.

which was why, when he found out you were moving to turin, it was from his parents and not you.

‘did you hear?’ his mother had said over dinner, her voice casual, unaware of how her words would completely upend kenan’s night. ‘she’s moving here. got a new place and everything. apparently, she’s arriving next week.’

kenan, mid bite, nearly choked. he coughed, reaching for his water as his dad chuckled.

‘you alright?’ his dad asked, though the amused look in his eyes made kenan suspect he knew exactly what was going on in his head.

his mom continued, oblivious. ‘i told her to let us know if she needs anything. she’ll probably need help setting up the apartment.’

kenan was barely listening at this point. all he could think about was that you were moving here. to his city. for the first time, he wouldn’t have to wait for random family gatherings or holidays to see you—you’d be here, close, a part of his everyday life.

and maybe, just maybe, this was the excuse he needed to finally do something about this crush he’d been harboring for years.

when you landed in turin, you barely had time to breathe before your phone lit up with a message from kenan.

kenan: heard you moved in today. need help with anything?

it was unexpected. not that kenan wasn’t friendly, he was. but you’d always been the one to reach out first, the one to keep conversations going when he got quiet. this was new.

you: wow, look who’s being proactive.
you: but yeah, actually. i still have to set up some furniture.

his reply came almost instantly.

kenan: omw.

and just like that, you had company.

when kenan showed up at your new place, he looked different, not physically, but in the way he carried himself. he still had that soft awkwardness, the quiet confidence, but there was something else too. a kind of determination.

‘hey,’ he said, stepping inside. ‘so where’s the furniture?’

‘straight to the point, huh?’ you teased, closing the door behind him.

he only shrugged, fighting back a grin. ‘i’m here to help, aren’t i?’

you led him to the mess of boxes and half-assembled furniture in your living room. he took one look at it, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

and that was how the next few hours went, building, unpacking, and somewhere along the way, talking more than you ever had before. kenan was still the same, thoughtful, a little reserved, but now, he wasn’t hesitating. he asked questions, told stories, even made you laugh a few times.

it felt easy. natural. like this had always been the way things were supposed to go.

by the time the last piece of furniture was in place, the sun had set, casting a warm glow through your new apartment.

‘not bad,’ kenan said, surveying the space.

‘yeah,’ you agreed, stretching your arms over your head. ‘couldn’t have done it without you.’

he looked at you then, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between you. something that had been building for years but never fully acknowledged.

you smiled. ‘guess i owe you dinner or something.’

his lips twitched, as if he was fighting the urge to smile too wide. ‘i wouldn’t say no to that.’

you nodded toward the kitchen. ‘i think i have instant ramen.’

he laughed, shaking his head. ‘or we could go somewhere actually good.’

‘wow, okay, mr. fancy.’

he only shrugged, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. something that told you this wasn’t just about dinner. it was about something more.

and maybe, finally, you were both ready for it.

[crushpunky]

rafe can’t stop thinking about kook!reader

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

It was a beautiful evening. The sun had just sat, casting a soft orange glow over the patio. Rafe stretched out on one of the loungers, drink in hand as he looked out towards the lapping waves of the ocean. Next to him, Sofia scrolled on her phone quietly, the two of them sitting in complete silence.

Despite the calming scenery, Rafe’s mind was anything but calm. Constant thoughts, questions, and worries filled his brain, but most of all, his mind filled with thoughts of y/n. He couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many girls he hooked up with or drugs he consumed, no matter how many times he saw her or talked to her every single day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She consumed him entirely.

“You alright?” Sofia asked gently, looking up from her phone. She adjusted the strap of her bathing suit, a soft purple ensemble that reminded Rafe of the one y/n had worn on his sixteenth birthday. The day they spent getting drunk in his backyard, floating in the pool until the air grew too cold.

“Yeah,” Rafe grumbled, taking a sip of his drink. “Just tired.”

Sofia looked him over before turning back to her phone. Rafe didn’t feel particularly good about how he was using Sofia. She was a nice girl, and she was undoubtedly beautiful of course, but he just couldn’t feel anything. No matter how hard he tried to rid his head and heart of his best friend, move on with some other girl, he just couldn’t… and he hated himself for it.

With a sigh, Rafe reached into the pocket of his shorts and brought out a joint. Placing it between his lips, he lit it and inhaled deeply. The smoke filled his lungs, giving his brain a brief moment of silence as he closed his eyes.

“Are you sure?” Rafe opened his eyes at Sofia’s voice.

“I’m fucking— I’m fine, Sofia.” Rafe sighed, running his hands along his head as he took another hit of his joint.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Sofia changed the subject. Rafe was doing his best to bite his tongue, but he really just needed a moment of silence.

“Getting coffee with y/n.” Rafe responded bluntly. It was a dumb question, really. He met with y/n every Thursday for coffee at their favorite cafe before taking a walk downtown. It had been a ritual they started in high school when they needed an escape from the chaos of homework and home lives and Rafe couldn’t have been more grateful for it. Sure, they saw each other almost every day, but that was with Topper and Kelce or whomever else would undoubtedly tag along, but this was different. Just the two of them, no outside pressures or expectations. Just two best friends and the connection that existed between them.

“Hmm.” Sofia chuckled lightly before turning back to her phone.

“What?” Rafe snapped, dabbing his joint out on the concrete.

“It’s just… you spend a lot of time with y/n. A lot more time than anyone else.” Sofia hummed.

“Yeah well she’s my best friend so…” Rafe scowled, straightening up in his seat. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was trying to say, and he certainly wasn’t fond of this sudden, what, jealousy? Sofia didn’t have the right to feel that way, it wasn’t like she was his girlfriend.

“I know that, Rafe. It just…” Sofia trailed off, shaking her head lightly.

“What? Spit it out.” Rafe said sharply.

“I don’t know. It just seems like you guys are really close.” Sofia said mindlessly, turning to look at Rafe apprehensively.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, huh?” Rafe snapped.

“You’re in love with her, Rafe.” Sofia said, her voice barely a whisper. Rafe felt his chest tighten, a swell of… something erupting in his stomach and threatening to bubble out. Was that what this obsession was? This constant need to be near her? This inability to stop thinking about her, the way she talked, smiled, laughed?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rafe swallowed harshly, avoiding Sofia’s gaze. The idea continued to swirl around his mind, this feeling of a complete loss of control over his own mind and body wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before… was this love? It certainly wasn’t like anything he had felt before, he thought.

“You can tell me, Rafe. I- I won’t be mad.” Sofia said, resting her hand on Rafe’s shoulder gently. He closed his eyes for a moment, mulling over the idea. The idea of saying what he was feeling out loud, making it real and not just something he could hide from the world, weighing on his mind…

“I…” Rafe felt his mouth dry up, his lips unable to speak and form the words he had thought so many times. He felt a sting, his vision beginning to blur as his eyes began to fill with tears. It was pathetic; he felt pathetic. Big, bad Rafe Cameron at a loss of words, tears in his eyes as he was forced to finally face the way he had been feeling for so long.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Rafe croaked out, blinking harshly as the tears began to streak down his cheeks, the weight of the words finally lifted. He was in love with his best friend. He was in love with y/n… and it terrified him.

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

———————————————

Masterlist

Chapter Nine: Just a Little Closer

———————————————

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the pitch as Y/N laced up her boots, nerves fluttering in her stomach. She glanced around at the assembled group—familiar faces from the Chaos Goblins, and a few she’d only ever seen through a screen.

Harry was already messing about with Chris, smacking a football into Bach’s back and pretending it was an accident. Ethan was mid-laugh, his booming voice carrying across the field, while Tobi warmed up with effortless precision. Theo Baker jogged past, offering her a friendly smile that she tried not to over-analyse.

She swallowed. These guys were massive. Millions of followers. Viral content. A whole other level. And here she was, adjusting her shin pads and trying not to freak out.

“Don’t overthink it,” George said, appearing at her side like he always did at the right time. “You’ll be better than half of us anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen me play.”

“I’ve seen your Rocket League streams. Football’s the same thing, just... legs.”

She snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

“An observant idiot.”

The teams were split to mix them up, keeping things fair but competitive. Y/N found herself alongside Harry, Tobi, and Bach. Chris shouted commentary while ATV tried—and failed—to keep track of the score. The cameras rolled from every angle, but soon the nerves melted into adrenaline.

Turns out, she was holding her own. Maybe better than that.

She slipped through defenders with surprising control, knocked a clean assist to Tobi, and even scored a scrappy goal that made everyone cheer. It was messy, chaotic, but she wasn’t invisible. She wasn’t just the guest tagging along. She belonged.

During a water break, Harry flopped beside her on the grass. “Alright, be honest,” he said between gulps. “Were you secretly semi-pro or is this just beginner’s luck?”

She laughed, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Trust me, I peaked in Year 9 PE.”

“Well,” he said, pushing his hair back in that signature flustered way, “you’ve definitely got me trying harder. Can’t have you outshining me.”

She looked at him, caught off guard by the low-key flirtation. “Was that... a compliment?”

“Dunno. Might’ve been.” He winked, just slightly crooked. “You’ll have to replay it later and find out.”

Her cheeks burned despite herself.

From the sidelines, George’s gaze flicked over. He hadn’t missed the interaction.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Chris yelled. “Get back on the pitch!”

Y/N stood, brushing grass from her shorts. As she ran to rejoin the game, George jogged up beside her.

“You and Harry seem to be getting along,” he said lightly, not quite looking at her.

She glanced at him. “He’s nice. Bit crazy.”

George made a noncommittal sound, then sprinted off ahead. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

After the match—filmed, loud, brilliant—they all sprawled on the grass eating snacks and making plans.

“We’re doing dinner, right?” Chris asked, already texting a group chat.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Ethan replied.

Y/N hesitated. George caught the look. “Come. You earned it.”

“Okay,” she said. “As long as no one records me trying to cut a steak.”

“I make no promises,” Theo grinned.

They ended up at a nearby pub with a back garden, everyone crowded around two picnic tables pushed together. The energy was still buzzing—inside jokes forming, food passed around, and the occasional Harry one-liner that made the entire table wheeze.

Y/N found herself seated between George and Tobi. George didn’t say much, but when her drink ran low, he replaced it without a word. When she laughed too hard at something Theo said and bumped his arm, he didn’t move away.

Later, when the group started splintering off—some heading home, others to film extra bits—George caught her outside by the railings, hoodie tugged over his head.

“Want me to walk you back?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, warmth blooming in her chest.

They walked in the cool evening, trainers thudding gently on pavement. The city was quieter now. Just the low hum of traffic and the occasional dog barking in the distance.

“Thanks for convincing me to play,” she said.

“Told you you’d be great.”

“I forgot how much I liked it.” She paused. “And the whole thing with Harry—”

George glanced over.

“—he’s funny. I like him. But…”

“But?”

“He’s not why I had fun today.”

That stopped him in his tracks.

She turned to face him, their steps slowing to a halt. “It was being part of it. Being with you guys. With you.”

His eyes held hers, a little more open than usual. “You’re part of it now. Whether you believe it or not.”

Something about the way he said it made her heart knock against her ribs.

She stepped a bit closer.

And then—

“Y/N! George!” Bach’s voice came from up the road. “Come on, the Uber’s leaving!”

They both jumped, stepping apart instinctively.

Y/N laughed, flustered. “Saved by the bell.”

George ran a hand through his hair, smiling despite himself. “One day we’ll get a quiet moment.”

“I’m not betting on it.”

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Still. Worth waiting for.”

She didn’t reply. Just smiled, soft and warm.

As they turned to rejoin the group, his hand brushed hers. And for the first time, she didn’t pull away.

—-

Taglist

@madforgeorge

@wherethezoes-at

@sundarksposts

@clarkey4life

@edgyficuselastica

——

If this gets enough traction I’ll post the next one too xx

[aventurineswife]

aventurine x reader!!: 🤍

req with hanahaki, but it’s a condition reader was born with {rather than the traditional unrequited love type of things, but aven doesn’t know that} basicallyyy: reader hides their condition from him, until one day aven finds out, and is worried it might be his fault

noticing how extra clingy he’s become, reader decides to ask him about it, he asks about their hanahaki, and we get cute fluffy ending <3

{basically chronically ill reader looking back on this, but hanahaki is very interesting :D}

hope you’re having a wonderful morning/evening/night <3 🤍🫧

“I won’t give up on us, even if the skies get rough”

Summary: You have been hiding a lifelong condition, Hanahaki Disease, from Aventurine. Though the disease isn't caused by unrequited love, it still manifests in the form of flowers growing your lungs. As Aventurine becomes more clingy and concerned about your health, you finally confess the truth. Aventurine, feeling a mixture of guilt and concern, vows to support you through your condition, offering comfort and care.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hanahaki Disease, Chronic Illness, Fluff, Comfort, Emotional Support, Angst (with a fluffy ending), Established Relationship, Relationship Growth, Vulnerability, Healing, Sweet Moments, Caretaking

Warnings: Mild illness (Hanahaki Disease), mention of chronic conditions, light angst, feelings of guilt and concern, unrequited love not being the cause of the condition.

A/N: THIS ACTUALLY SUCH A GOOD PROMPT?! AND ALSO ORIGINAL TOO!! LIKE MAN I WAS DONE CRYING OVER CHARACTER GETTING THE DISEASE BECAUSE OF UNREQUITED LOVE!! ☹️💔

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft, golden hues across your shared living space. Aventurine stands in the kitchen, flipping through a deck of cards absentmindedly, his gaze shifting occasionally in your direction. You’ve noticed how his attention seems to linger on you lately, how his glances feel like they carry a silent question he hasn’t yet voiced. And though he’s always been affectionate, his recent clinginess has you wondering if something’s on his mind.

Today, after all the little moments of unspoken worry and his fingers brushing your arm a little too often, you decide to bring it up.

"Aven, love,” you begin gently, meeting his gaze, “Is everything alright? You’ve been...extra close lately."

He hesitates, his ever-present smile faltering just slightly. "Ah, am I really that obvious?" He chuckles, but there's a hint of nervousness behind it. "It’s just...I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been coughing a bit more lately."

You freeze for a second, feeling your heart quicken. You’d tried so hard to hide your condition from him, carefully coughing petals into tissues, tucking them away when he wasn’t looking. Your condition was a lifelong burden, not caused by any recent heartache but simply part of who you are. But now it’s clear he’s been noticing more than you realized.

“Aven, it’s not... It’s not what you think,” you say softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I know what you’re thinking—that it might be because of you. But it’s not. It’s something I was born with.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Aventurine’s confident composure breaks entirely. He stares at you, brows furrowing, genuine worry and perhaps a bit of guilt swimming in his eyes. "You mean...this wasn’t something recent? You’ve...you’ve had it all along?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. "It’s always been there. The doctors don’t know why, but it’s just a part of me. I didn’t want to worry you, so I hid it."

He exhales, visibly relieved but still concerned. “You shouldn’t have hidden something so big,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through your hair, fingers gentle and affectionate. “I... I hate thinking of you going through that alone.”

His tone is soft, filled with a depth of emotion you rarely hear from him. "I just wanted things to feel normal," you whisper, resting your forehead against his. "But lately... it’s been harder to hide. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t trust you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his hand slipping down to cradle your face, his thumb tracing gentle patterns against your cheek. “I’ll help you through this. You’re not alone in this anymore, you hear me?” His voice is resolute, his determination clear.

A small, hesitant smile finds its way onto your lips as you nod, feeling the weight of your secret lighten. “You really don’t have to...”

“Oh, but I do,” he insists, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. “I’m already envisioning ways we can handle it together. I’ll bring you tea every morning, make sure you rest more, and maybe bring a few cards to distract you when things get rough.”

You laugh softly at his playfulness, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. The tenderness in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you—it’s as if he’s promising to take on part of this burden just to keep you smiling.

“I’m lucky to have you.” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him.

He smiles, holding you close, his voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "And I’m lucky to have you, petals and all."

With Aventurine by your side, you realize that even the things you once saw as burdens feel a little lighter. The two of you, together, find comfort in each other’s embrace, knowing that no secret or struggle can stand between the love you share.

[sludge-saturday]

guidance

pairing: connor rk800 x gn!reader

summary: fresh out of the revolution, connor is still adjusting to his deviancy. his very existence has given the word "life" an entirely new meaning, and he is experiencing some inner turmoil surrounding his true purpose now that he has free will. will you help him navigate these complex feelings?

tags: comfort, fluff, upset connor

warnings: none!

word count: 1,483

a/n: HUGE THANK YOU to @thiriumstains for submitting this request!! for the purposes of this fic, deviated androids can cry when their systems are overloaded with information, and mimic human-like sleep behaviors when going into sleep mode! i hope you enjoy :]

☆ as your keys jingled in the door handle, you could hear the vigilant barks of your golden retriever and hear the sound of his paws trotting up to the doorway. connor, with similar dog-like reflexes, started getting up from his place on the couch as soon as he heard the clamor from the entrance to your shared apartment. opening the door you excitedly greeted your furry friend as he jumped on you, licking your face in appreciative excitement.

☆ "y/n, welcome home!" connor said. eager to assist, he takes some of the bags out of your arms and sets them on the table. like the gentleman he is, he helps you out of your jacket and hangs it on the hook next to the doorframe. you turn around to look at him, feeling refreshed just by the sight of him after a long day away. and, just by looking into connor's eyes, you can tell he feels similarly. with this shared glance of cherishment, your bodies are like magnets with the way they move toward each other for an embrace.

☆ "i've missed you so much." connor sighs, resting his head on your shoulder. his grip on you was strong, as if he was finally finding solace after running from something stronger than him. your bodies lingered in their positions for a moment before you both pulled away, connor's hands squeezing your arms before dropping to his sides. you studied his face unconsciously and realized that something looked amiss about the way he looked. his cheeks were glistening and his eyes looked glossier than normal. "connor," you started cautiously, afraid of upsetting him. "are you feeling alright?"

☆ connor's eyes widened slightly, a micro-expression that most wouldn't notice, and he straightened his posture. he felt as though he had been caught doing what he wasn't supposed to. the truth is, he didn't know what was happening to him. he has only been deviated for a few weeks, and this was the first time since then that he's felt so... overwhelmed. but he couldn't tell you, the thought of doing so only amplified the sensation. trying his best to maintain his usual calm and collected appearance, connor unknowingly gave you a sad smile. "all of my systems are perfectly functional," he lied. "what makes you say that?"

☆ looking into connor's eyes as he tilted his head to the side, you saw more than he was letting on. his gaze looked pained, specifically the kind of pain that you feel you must hide for the sake of others. neither of you knew what deviance would hold for connor, but you were determined to help him through everything. "i don't mean to pry, but you look upset. don't feel obligated to tell me anything you don't want to, but i want you to know that i'm here for you." you smiled gently at him to punctuate your message.

☆ shame continued to bubble within connor, steadfast and and committed. he didn't want you to see him like this, but, deep down, he knew he couldn't keep this at bay any longer. all it took was one blink for tears to drip down his cheeks once more, and your heart clenched at the sight. connor's hand flew up to wipe his face, embarrassed that he couldn't control what was happening to him. actually, it was quite frightening for him.

☆ "i'm sorry, i-" he whispered, eyes cast downward. the tone of voice in which he spoke revealed just how out of control he felt. "i don't know what's happening. my optical units- my eyes- they don't need additional lubricant." it was concerning, to say the least, watching the usually composed android unravel like this. you reached out and pulled him close to you, making a silent promise to yourself that you were going to take care of him. "what's wrong, connor?" you knew that you were gonna have to coax him through this, that he needed guidance through this uncharted territory.

☆ "i don't have a mission," he spoke, just above a whisper. taking his frame in your hands you turned him to face you, his face was perturbed and his eyes still lowered. "what?" you softly urged. his teary eyes met yours with a look of disbelief. "...i don't have a mission. what am i supposed to do without a purpose to fulfill? without a goal to meet?" connor's voice shakes. "my entire existence has been ruled by objectives. i was activated to serve as a tool for humans to use, and i was okay with that. but now... now-" he covered his face with his hands, leaning forward as a heavy sob shook his body.

☆ your hand instinctively reached to rub his back as he wept, your touch letting him know that he didn't have to go through this alone. he wasn't used to this: to not having feelings, to people wanting to know how he's feeling in the first place, it was all too much. he's never experienced this kind of input running through his circuitry before. "do you want to talk about this?" you said, continuing to rub his back. he lifted his head back up to eye level, looking so, so broken.

☆ he didn't want to, he couldn't admit that he needed help. all he'd known was how to be the help others needed. how was he supposed to accept it for himself? connor stayed silent, staring at the ground as more tears rolled down his cheeks. in an act of immense courage, connor nodded, and that was all of the confirmation you needed to try and lead him into the right direction. "the truth is, us humans, we don't know what we're doing either. we may seem like we already know what our futures have in store for us, but some of us, not all of us, know deep down that tomorrow is never promised."

☆ connor sat and listened. he didn't interject, become distracted, or avert his gaze as you spoke. "it's more than okay to not know what your destination is yet, what's most important is that the journey is savored. part of having human-like qualities is to doubt, to question, and to be unsure." you paused, getting up from the couch to move toward your shared bedroom. you reached out your hand to him, knowing how much he's valued physical touch since he deviated.

☆ "and don't forget, you still have duties you can fulfill at the precinct. no one's gonna take that away from you." you said, walking the two of you through the doorframe. "but you also don't have to be tied to that place anymore if you don't want to. its your decision, in the end." you moved to your dresser and rifled through the drawers for pajamas to wear. connor did the same, itching to get into more comfortable clothes. you both faced away from each other as you changed, but the conversation did not cease.

☆ "it will take a lot of getting used to, this freedom. i'm not doubting that. but i want you to know that i'm gonna be here for you the whole time." you finished changing and moved towards the bed. "even if you think you have no one, you'll have me. got it?" you affirmed, peeling the blankets back. nestling inside, you patted the spot next to you on the bed. "come," you beckoned. "i'm sure you're exhausted." connor walked over, still silent, and slid underneath the covers.

☆ you smoothed a hand over his hair as you two laid side by side, facing each other. "the beautiful thing about this is," a yawn overtakes your sentence. "you are now the director of your own destiny. no one gets to tell you what to do anymore. its up to you to decide what you want your mission to be." your eyelids grew heavy as your hand slid down to rest on his side protectively. "this is your life, connor. you have the power to choose how it unfolds for yourself."

☆ your eyes fluttered, fighting the creeping, persistent grasp of slumber. connor noted this, and, with the same small voice he spoke in before, he whispered: "thank you. i... need time to process... and reflect... but..." he paused again. "thank you." connor shifted his eyes from looking down at the mattress to meeting yours, but yours were already closed. aching to join you and to finally release this burden for the time being, he began the process of entering sleep mode.

☆ taking in his last moments of wakefulness, he couldn't help but wonder: did you hear him? his eyes were closed, but he felt the mattress shift as your dog jumped on the bed to snuggle between you two. as he laid there, counting down the seconds to sleep, he swore he could have heard the ghost of a voice float through his auditory processor. "always." it said.

[faithisyours]

Basement Hangout

Vi X Fem!Reader

Chapter 4 of The List

Previous chapters can be found here

Summary: you (along with your mutual friends) surprise Vi with a basement hangout. Shenanigans ensue.

cw: timebomb, melvika, and jayvik included, Caitlyn is also here, Claggor and Mylo mentioned, some other supporting cast appearances, light smut, fingering, some dirty talk, alcohol consumption, smut while slightly intoxicated, Vi’s more dominant in this one, kinda choking but not really, some fluff, I think that’s it.

Word count: 3.3k

an: Hello little gay people in my phone! I give you chapter 4, hope you enjoy it, this one fought me the entire way. Sorry for such a long wait, I just got back to college, which will probably continue to alter the pace at which I post these, but I do plan on continuing to post, although my pace may slow. I’m also predicting a couple caitvi fics in my future, so be on the lookout for those. If you want to see anything specific in this fic, or be added to the tag list, let me know! And as always, men and minors dni.

“M’ so fucking cold, is he incapable of answering his door in a timely manner?” Vi huffed. You and your girlfriend stood waiting outside on the steps of Ekko’s house. It was now full blown winter, and was, in fact, actively snowing as you stood there.

It had been over a month since you and Vi made that blanket fort in the living room of your shared apartment, the last thing you had done off the list. Between work, holidays, and overall life in general, you both hadn’t gotten to cross any more things off it, but on the bright side, Vi had finally shared the list in its entirety with you. And it was long. A lot of the things were season specific, such as camping, but many were not, like the one you were surprising Vi with tonight.

“I don't understand why we couldn't have just picked this stuff up tomorrow. We’re freezing our asses off for nothing,” Vi continued with her complaining.

“Ekko asked nicely, so we’ll just get this over with and then we can go home, alright?” you soothed. Of course, this was all a ruse to get Vi over here, and hopefully she would feel differently when the surprise was revealed. When you had read over the list, the idea of a “basement hangout” had burrowed its way into your head and would not leave. So, you decided to band all your friends together to help surprise Vi. Ekko had been the one to offer his place as the setting, considering he was the only one with a finished basement. The trickiest part was getting Vi over here without having her get suspicious. You had Ekko call you while you were in front of Vi to ask if the two of you could come over to pick some things up left over from the holiday party he had. Vi was not happy about it, but she’d do basically anything for a lifelong friend, so here you stood. And, safe to say, Vi was too cold to be suspicious, if she ever was to begin with.

At that moment, you heard the sound of a lock sliding back, and then the door swung open, revealing Ekko, who was dressed in black sweatpants and a dark olive-green sweatshirt.

“Come in, come in.” Ekko ushered you both inside. Vi hurriedly marched indoors first, giving Ekko a somewhat pointed look when passing him. “It’s just down in the basement, I’ll show you where.”

He shot you a wink while Vi wasn’t looking, then led you both down the stairs to the basement. It was warm down there, string lights hung against the walls and wrapped around the exposed beams on the ceiling, but other than that, it was completely dark.

“It’s just over here…” Ekko said, pointing vaguely around the bend of the stairs. He turned on a floor lamp, drenching the room in light, and simultaneously people jumped out from behind the couch, from the closet, from around the corner, and yelled “Surprise!” Vi turned to you, a shocked look on her face. You just gave her a smile, shoving her shoulder lightly with yours.

“Surprise,” you said, grinning at her and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“But it’s not my birthday,” Vi countered incredulously, like that was the only time surprising her was acceptable.

“I know. This is from the list, a ‘basement hangout’ if I remember correctly,” you said. She hummed in response, then, abruptly, gave you a rather salacious kiss that caught you off guard and had your friends either groaning out ew’s or whistling low. You pulled away breathless, a blush creeping up your cheeks, and Vi gave you the cheekiest grin of all time.

After recovering from that, you turned your attention to your friends, who were already getting the party started by pouring drinks and playing music through the surround-sound speakers. And it really was appropriate to say party, considering how many of your mutual friends had shown up. There was Ekko, of course, and Jinx, as well as Caitlyn, Viktor, Jayce, Mel, Sevika, Lest, Maddie, Claggor, Mylo, Scar, and Steb. Maybe you had overdone it with the invitations, and it no longer resembled a chill hangout with friends, but everyone seemed to be having a good time, so you supposed it didn’t really matter.

You and Vi, stripped of your coats, took your time saying hello to everyone, but only after you got drinks in your hands. You got a malibu cranberry, while Vi got a vodka redbull. Settling down on one of the couches, Vi wrapped her arm around you and leaned back. It was almost comical the way your position mirrored the other couples in attendance: Mel and Sevika were sitting on the adjacent couch, Mel basically in Sev’s lap, while Jayce and Viktor were occupying an armchair, Jayce in the chair while Viktor propped himself on the arm. And then there was Ekko and Jinx, who were sitting on the same couch as you and Vi, but where Ekko sat normally, Jinx sat perched on the back of the couch behind him. Your uncoupled friends dotted the rest of the room, either sitting or standing in semi-circles talking with one another.

“Beer pong, anyone?” Jayce asked, pointing to the empty table near the hallway.

“I’ll play,” Viktor answered.

“So will I,” Jinx volunteered.

“Either of you want to play?” Viktor asked when no one else said anything, pointing towards you and Vi.

“I’ll just watch this first round,” you said, giving Viktor a smile.

“And I’m gonna stay with my girl a while longer,” Vi answered, subconsciously pulling you closer to her. You blushed slightly, always going a little red when Vi called you her girl. It didn’t matter that you had been together for years, you were still going to blush. But what you were also going to do was blame it on the alcohol.

“Alright, I’ll play,” Ekko said, shooting you both an exasperated look.

The two couples rose from their seats and made their way towards the table. Jayce and Ekko occupied one end, while Jinx and Viktor stood at the other. And soon enough, ping pong balls began bouncing back and forth. The table was at a good angle and distance away to where you could watch them play and still contribute to the conversation, but could also tune it out or have a separate conversation with Vi and the others sitting down around you.

You sipped on your drink, already half downed, and did your best to pay attention to your friends playing, but your girlfriend was making it increasingly difficult to focus. The hand that was not holding her drink was around your waist, drawing lazy patterns there and working together with the alcohol to heat your skin. You fidgeted, squirming slightly in Vi’s grip, which only made her grasp on you tighter.

“So I heard about this list…” Mel said, pulling your attention away from the beer pong and towards where she and Sev sat on the couch next to yours. “What is it exactly?”

“Oh, well, um…” you tried to find a decent explanation without having to explain the ‘why’ part of it, but Vi beat you to it.

“It’s a list of things we both have never done and want to do,” she said simply.

“So, like a bucket list?” Sevika interjected.

“Kinda, but more to the tune of stupid teenager shit,” you said.

“I see, alright, that makes sense. Maybe we should start one, huh Sev?” Mel said, nudging her partner.

“Anything you want, my love,” Sevika replied, smiling at her girlfriend. Mel just shook her head, amused at Sev’s response, a smile curving her mouth.

“That makes sense, considering what we're doing. Very teenager-esque, I must say. But I feel like something’s missing, like we need to be playing spin-the-bottle or explicit truth or dare,” Mel said.

“Ekko has drunk jenga,” you said, pointing to a pile of games stacked high in the corner.

“That's perfect. Alright, who wants to play drunk jenga?” Mel asked the room, and a chorus of ‘I will’s followed. So while Mel and Sevika grabbed the game and began setting it up, you went to grab yourself another drink, Vi following behind you.

“Do you want another one, babe?” you ask Vi, who was in the process of snaking her hands around your front to hug you from behind.

“I’m alright, thank you though,” she said from just over your shoulder. So you fixed your drink, a Dirty Shirley this time, all while having a rather clingy Vi attached to your back, then joined your friends.

While Jinx, Ekko, Jayce, and Viktor played beer pong, you, Vi, Mel, Sev, Lest, Scar, Maddie, Caitlyn, and Setb (in that order) huddled around the coffee table to play drunk jenga. Since it was Mel and Sev’s idea, they went first. Mel pulled one from right in the middle, sliding it out and reading it aloud.

“Take a shot with the person to your right,” she said, then looked towards Sevika, who was already getting up to go get shot glasses and vodka. Sev came back, poured the shots, cheered with Mel and downed it, barely making a face at its taste. Mel, on the other hand, made a twisted face at the taste. And since they had pulled a block semi-together, it was now Lest’s turn. She pulled one from the edge close to the bottom, its removal slightly more difficult than the block Mel pulled, then read it aloud.

“Kiss the person to your right,” she said, and a small blush appeared on her cheeks. She turned to her right to face Scar, Ekko’s long-time friend, who looked a little shocked and flushed, but played it off well. Hesitantly they kissed, a quick and gentle peck, but it was cute enough to bring a smile to your face.

It went on like that, your friends pulling blockers that made the structure more precarious each turn, reading them aloud and quickly getting more intoxicated. And then it was your turn. You surveyed the tower, looking for a block to pull that wouldn’t tip the entire structure over, and went with the bottom middle block. As you poked and prodded, the tower shifted, but you were able to pull the block free without losing the game.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” you read out, and as soon as the words left your lips, Vi, with a wicked grin on her face, was pulling you away and down the hall. She stopped at the hall closet, flung the door open, then pushed you inside, closing the door behind her.

The slats in the door allowed enough light in for you to get the gist of shapes, but it was still pretty dark. Your heart was pounding, probably due to the combination of alcohol and adrenaline in your blood. Vi had hauled you off rather quickly, you barely had time to set your almost empty cup down, and now you were standing very close to your girlfriend in a very confined space. Good thing you weren't claustrophobic.

“I haven't been in one of these in years,” you joked, looking around the small space and attempting to diffuse the growing tension. Vi had been exceptionally touchy this evening, and being in a confined space alone with her was only making you more soaked.

“I think we should play a game,” Vi whispered, leaning in close.

“Besides seven minutes in heaven?” you asked.

“I think we should play the game where whoever makes the other come first wins.” Vi leaned back slightly, surveying your face with a small grin on hers. She knew you were two drinks down, and even though you weren't completely drunk yet, you were still pretty tipsy. Her surveying you was your chance to say no. But you didn’t want to. That grin on her face let you know she knew you were tipsy, and because of that would be at a disadvantage when it came to the game. And you wanted nothing more than to prove her wrong.

Instead of answering her with words, you launched yourself at her, pulling her into a hard and frantic kiss. You threw your arms around her neck, pressing your body against hers, and tangled one of your hands in her hair, pulling slightly at the strands. Vi moaned low, and the sound went straight to your clit. You pulled back from the kiss only to have your hands shoot straight to the front of her pants, working the button loose. Vi, catching on, did the same to your pants. Soon enough you were dragging your hand through her happy trail and into her boxers, her hand not far behind in yours.

Vi’s fingers pushed into you, only to find you completely soaked. “All this already? If you were so needy you could have just said something,” she taunted.

“Shut up,” you retorted, but there was no bite behind the words. While she dragged her fingers through your folds, spreading your slick and lazily circling your clit, you pushed two fingers into her and slowly ground the palm of your hand against her clit. Her walls clenched around the intrusion, but the new wave of slick, along with her surprised moan, let you know you were welcome.

Both of you seemed to have differing strategies: where Vi was more lazy and teasing with her movements, you were precise and strategic. Or at least you were trying to be. As soon as Vi sunk two fingers into you and started curling them, your movements faltered. You tried to keep up, tried to play it off by stifling your moans and rubbing her clit harder, and while, yes, Vi was moaning and whimpering slightly, your ministrations were nothing compared to hers. She knew your body like the back of her hand, knew all the right buttons to press, when to press them, and how to make you fall apart in her hands.

“What's the matter, babe? Can’t keep up?” she taunted. You kissed her to shut her up, but also to hopefully regain some control. You knew she loved when you were loud, and you knew she loved when you played with her tits. So you did both. You moaned, excessively, into the kiss, syncing it up with her thrusts, and worked your free hand inside her shirt and under her bra. You grazed your fingers over her nipple, which elicited a gasp from her, breaking the kiss for only a second before she pulled you back into it. You knew she knew what you were doing, so you tried to be as unpredictable as possible. You pinched her nipple, which earned you a guttural moan, the sound making you smile against the kiss. Now you are in control.

But it didn’t last long. Vi broke the kiss and instead pressed her forehead against yours, her heavy breathing mixing with yours. And then the next thing you knew there was a hand on your throat and you were being pushed back against the wall, her fingers still circling tightly around your clit. Your back hit the wall, and you wanted to complain that this position wasn’t fair, but then Vi started kissing you again, and the hand on your throat was squeezing just so, and her fingers were working you closer and closer to the edge. You were dizzy, hazy from the alcohol, breathless, still kissing her, and you tried your hardest to keep up, circling her clit and adding a third finger, but it was a lost cause. You were losing your footing, your hand was stopping and starting, your jerky movements doing little to bring Vi much pleasure.

You pulled away from the kiss, panting, and rested your forehead on Vi’s shoulder. You just needed to focus.

“Not very good at this game, are you?” she whispered into your ear, her voice dripping with mock-condicention. You tried to speak, tried to come up with a retort, but all you could manage was a weak moan. “Why don’t you come for me, baby. It’s okay, you can do it,” she said, her breath ghosting your ear. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, she was kissing your neck, your jaw, that spot behind your ear that always made you squirm, and it was your undoing.

You came with a strangled cry of her name, wave after wave of pleasure crashing into you as Vi kept up her movements, and you would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for Vi snaking the hand that was previously on your throat around your back to keep you upright. She soothed and cooed at you, bringing you slowly but surely back to reality.

Foreheads pressed together and hands still in each other's pants, there was a small nock on the closet door. “What?” Vi said, while her breath still mingled with your.

“Um, I’m supposed to tell you that the seven minutes is up,” you heard Jayce say from beyond the door.

“Got it,” Vi responded, and you couldn't help but laugh, Vi joining you in your giggles. You removed your hand, Vi mirroring your movements, and when Vi slipped her come-covered fingers into her mouth to clean them off, you did the same.

“I may have lost,” you said, “but did I really lose?” You gave Vi a cocky look as you buttoned your pants.

She hummed. “I guess we both won, in different ways.” You gave her another quick kiss before readjusting your clothes and smoothing your hair, making sure everything was as it should be. Vi did the same, and soon enough you were opening the closet door and stepping out to join the party once more.

As you made your way back, hand-in-hand with Vi, a handful of your friends gave you knowing looks, and some of them even whistled, but most didn’t react. You knew you should have tried to be quiet, and you had for the most part, but you had assumed the distance plus the music would have drowned out most of the moaning. Maybe you had miscalculated. But it didn’t matter now.

You and Vi rejoined the party, chatted with friends and played a couple more games, but stuck to water for the rest of your time there. And after a couple more hours, you were yawning, curled up against Vi, about ready to fall asleep. Vi had been talking with Ekko, a conversation you were too tired to follow, but noticed your yawning and decided it was time to go.

She got you into your coat, pulling your hat onto your head and zipping you up, then put her own on. She thanked Ekko profusely, as well as your remaining friends, which you also did, albeit more groggily, then guided you up the stairs and out the door towards the car. It had stopped snowing, and the car didn’t need much scraping off before it was able to be driven. Vi guided you into the passenger seat, making sure your seat belt was clicked in before closing your door and making her way around to settle into the driver's seat.

“Thank you for tonight, it was wonderful,” she said. Though you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard her through the haze.

“You’re welcome, baby. Anything for you,” you mumbled, then proceeded to fall asleep.

Tag list: @usuck @saqqarasdissent