#also once again I don’t mind pointing at things from other things and saying ‘that seems kinda watchery’ cuz you know what. ur right.

[hyper-fixated-delusions]

You’re insecure (don’t know what for.)

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader.

*Credit to the owner of the gif.*

A/N: Here’s a little Christmas gift for you all!! 🎄🎁 I hope you enjoy and I apologize for any mistakes! Also comments, reblogs, shares and likes are super appreciated, thank you! :) (p.s I didn’t really proofread this as much because I was getting self conscious and yeah. Happy reading!)

Word count: 1,698.

Masterlist

It was a Friday night and you were lounging in your apartment feeling like the absolute scum of the earth over bouts of insecurity arising in you over some comments made about you throughout the past few weeks.

Comments about how Wanda was too good for you.

How she was way out of your league and how people were clueless as to why she was with you. How a stunning woman like her, could be with someone as simple looking as you.

Thoughts that you yourself have had with your girlfriend basically being a walking goddess and all, how could you not let your mind stray to think those things when you've seen firsthand more attractive people vying for her attention.

So there you were feeling like utter shit while playing video games, when a call from an unknown number came into your phone.

"Hello?" You answer cautiously.

"Y/N?" You hear exclaimed through the phone, having a hard time hearing due to the music blasting from the other side of the call.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me, who is this?" You ask not immediately recognizing the voice.

"Hey, it's me, Nat," the voice supplies, "my phone died so I'm using someone else's. Anyway, so you know how we went out to the bar to grab a few drinks? Well, as we were making our way back to your place, your girlfriend found a club and made her way inside. She's on the dance floor crying, she won't let me take her home, she wants you," Natasha yells through the speaker causing you to immediately stand up and begin looking for your keys.

"Is she okay?" You ask worriedly, your movements halting momentarily.

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine, just super drunk," Natasha says, her voice muffled by the sounds around her. "Hey, no Wanda, get off of there, you can't do that!" You suddenly hear Natasha say and you hurry your movements once again, "listen, we're at the Avengers Night Club in uptown, it’s not too far from your place so there's no rush, but the faster you're here, the better. So please, don't take too long," the redhead pleads and you nod, realizing after a moment she can't see you.

"Uh, yeah, don't worry. I'll be there as soon as I can, thank you Nat," you say appreciatively.

"No worries, see you soon," she replies breathless, "Wanda, oh my god, no you can't eat that, that's a candle-" you hear suddenly and the call disconnects.

When you locate your keys you hastily make your way out of your apartment and into your car. The 10 minute drive to the club feeling eternal.

When you finally reach your destination you park your car and make your way inside the club, immediately finding Natasha.

"Nat!" You exclaim over the music.

"Hey!" The redhead turns to greet you pulling you into a hug.

"Where is she?" You ask Wanda's best friend when you pull back.

The shorter woman frowns, "wait, what the fuck, she was just here a minute ago!" She yells over the music, eyes scanning the club and immediately landing on your girlfriend that is taking shots with a group of people across the bar from where you stand, "there she is!" Natasha says, finger pointing in Wanda's direction.

Once you spot her you nod and with Natasha make your way towards your girlfriend, trying your best not to bump into people in the process. As soon as you reach Wanda, you immediately realize she is much drunker than you have ever seen her be in the two years that you've been together.

"Hey Wanda, Y/N is here, let's get you home," Natasha says as she gathers your girlfriend into her arms.

"That's not gonna work Natty, I know she's not here, you've been saying that all night you little liar," Wanda singsongs, bopping Natasha's nose, causing the redhead to roll her eyes in annoyed amusement.

"I'm serious Wands, she's right there," Natasha says as she turns the redhead to face you.

"Oh, my god! Baby!" Wanda exclaims excitedly, hands thrown up in the air, a drunken smile on her lips.

"Hey Max," you greet with an amused chuckle.

"New friends, hey, hey," Wanda says, waving at the other patrons she was drinking with, "this is my amazingly beautiful girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N," she beams, pulling you in by your waist to introduce you to the group of strangers.

"Hey!" The group exclaimed loudly.

"Hey," you say softly, waving shyly at the sudden attention.

"Aren't you just the cutest thing," you hear Wanda say, turning to face her and you see green eyes glossed over with adoration and love, "my beautiful baby, my stunning lover, I love you so much," she yells, voice full of affection.

"How much have you had to drink, amor?" You ask, blushing red.

"I'm not drunk," Wanda slurs, and you raise a challenging eyebrow, "okay, I am drunk. Drunk in love," she says with a dopey smile.

You shake your head, "okay, you're definitely wasted," you say with a laugh.

"No. No, I'm not baby. You really are my beautiful lover. So so beautiful," she pouts, hands cradling your face as tears gloss over in her green eyes. "I really wish you could see yourself the way I see you my love, because you're so stunning. You think I'm the most beautiful person you've ever seen, but that's bullshit! You are the most beautiful person ever! You're so amazing Y/N, you make me so happy and you're so nice, all my friends love you, you treat me like a queen. You're perfect," Wanda says, tears rolling down her face, "I just- I love you so much," she says as she begins sobbing into her hands.

"Okay amor mio, let's get you going," you say, gathering Wanda into your arms as you begin to make your way out of the nightclub. "Hey Nat you good, do you need a ride or something?" You ask the redhead once you make it outside.

"No, I'm good, I think I might stay a little longer, I definitely just saw someone check me out and I want to see where that goes," she smirks and you chuckle, "you just get home safe and call me if you need me alright?" Natasha says as she pulls you and your girlfriend into a hug.

"Yeah sure, thank you," you say appreciatively, "and if you need anything please don't hesitate to call," the redhead nods her head and makes her way back into the club as you walk to your car. After placing Wanda in the passenger side, you buckle her in and make the drive back to your apartment.

Getting Wanda into your home seems to be a much more difficult task than you anticipated, the redhead more asleep than awake to properly walk, the alcohol in her system causing her to slightly sway back and forth as you take her up to the apartment.

Once you make it inside you take Wanda to your room, laying her down softly on the bed as you begin her nightly routine.

First you take off her shoes, placing them in your closet. Then you grab one of your t-shirts for her to sleep in. Taking off her dress being nearly impossible as Wanda softly snores.

Once you complete your mission and dress your girlfriend you make your way to your bathroom to grab some makeup removing wipes. As you sit beside your girlfriend you begin gently cleaning off the make-up Wanda wore, your soft swipes across her face causing the redhead to stir awake.

"Hmm, baby, what are you doing?" Wanda asks, voice thick, full of sleep.

"Just taking your makeup off amor, go back to sleep," you whisper, continuing with your task.

"It's okay, leave it on, just lay with me," your girlfriend pouts, tugging on your arm to pull you into bed beside her and you chuckle softly.

"I will in a bit Max, let me just take this off so you can sleep comfortably," you smile as Wanda's eyes slowly open, unshed tears building in her beautiful green eyes. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?" You ask slowly, a look of confusion on your face at your girlfriend's sudden change in mood.

"You're so good to me baby. So good," Wanda whispers, tears pouring down her face.

Cupping her face gently you wipe her tears away, "hey, none of that Wands, you're my girl. I love taking care of you and you do the same for me, so it's all good," you say smiling softly.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you, but you're everything to me,” Wanda sobs, voice full of emotion, "and don't think I haven't noticed how in your head you have gotten as of late. I know you, and I know what people have been saying has been affecting you. But just know that I put them in their place and that I love you and only you detka, I don't care what they have to say, you are my person and they can all fuck off if they think you’re no good for me, because they don’t know you the way I do,” she monologues. “They don’t know how truly happy you make me. They don’t know how well you take care of me. They don’t know that just by being with you it makes me want to be a better person. They don’t know anything, my love,” she says and you let out a sob.

“God, I love you so much Max, you don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that,” you say, crying.

“You’re it for me detka, before you I wasn’t truly living, it’s like everything was preparing me for this moment, now come on, get in bed, let’s go to sleep,” Wanda says as she takes your hands, pulling you into the space beside her.

As you crawl in behind her, you wrap your arms around her frame, “I love you Wanda,” you whisper, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, my love,” she replies before you both drift off to sleep.

[euthymiya]

acting like you’re some woke person just because you advocate for middle aged women to be lifeless on the internet is not the flex you think it is 💀

You seem rather passionate about this so I’m going to indulge your ask to let you know three things:

Writing is a hobby that gets better with age, life experience, and practice. The best pieces of writing objectively come from older people and I’m not talking about fanfiction. I mean books and literature. I’m serious—go look at some of the most well known pieces of literature and then search up the ages of their authors during the years they were published. You’ll find the older writers tend to bust out bangers and this principle is very much applicable to fics too by default. Also writing fanfic is not “lifeless” lol. Some of you act like writing fanfic is juvenile compared to a novel and it’s rly not that different from writing an original piece of fiction. Sure, sometimes fanfic can be a little less on the conventional side in terms of technique. But genuinely the concept of putting characters into situations to create a plot is literally the main thing on both sides here and if you think writing fanfic is silly, it makes 0 sense to hold creative writing to some pedestal. Some fanfic writers demonstrate AMAZING original world building skills especially if they write au’s that diverge from canon and I think you are out of your mind if you think this hobby is not oftentimes an impressive one rather than “lifeless”

Being 30+ doesn’t automatically mean you must/do have a family and kids but I’ll still indulge that point and say you can easily balance a work and personal life while also having a hobby. I know middle aged men who dedicate more time to hobbies like hunting and fishing than middle aged women do with writing. One actually requires you to leave your house and family behind and the other you can do from the comfort of your home and tend to your family should you need to. I think the nature of your opinion only stems from a misogynistic view on aging women but that’s another can of worms

People don’t stop consuming and enjoying things as soon as they hit their third decade of living. If that’s your viewpoint on life, you’re going to set yourself up for a very miserable time once you hit 30. If you’re already 30+ then you’re a hypocrite by default by even being here in the first place lol. Also, life is literally so fucking silly okay? You wake up, work, pay taxes, and try to get by with what is usually an underpaid paycheck. Just fucking enjoy your life and let others enjoy theirs okay? If a 30 year old likes anime, then that is literally so god damn harmless I cannot stress enough how unimportant that is. There are 30 year olds out there doing heinous things in their free time and you choose to be bothered by someone who happens to produce an assortment of words from time to time. Please reevaluate your priorities

All things aside I cannot convince you that being 30+ and enjoying fandom and fanfic is not weird unless you really just realize that it’s not weird. Idk how old you are but I assume you’re younger than 30 because no 30 year old would be on fandom tumblr and then bash others for it. But regardless, just because you think something is weird doesn’t mean it’s bad. It is literally the most harmless thing I do not understand why you would care so much, just move on???? When you think someone dresses weird in real life do you go point it out to them??? No you think it to yourself and move tf on—and if you would voice it to them then you are literally a rude individual. Plain and simple. Rude and disrespectful and I would suggest you again, reevaluate. And it’s the same principle here. You just move on. If you seriously cannot be convinced that this is normal and just absolutely are dead set on believing that 30+ year olds who enjoy fandom are weird, fine. But just keep it to yourself it is the bare minimum you can do to be a decent person I cannot stress this enough to you

And one more thing. The people who are writing the mangas and animes you enjoy so much are middle aged. Older than 30/40. Grown people who might even have families and kids. Creativity has no age limit it is just a small joy that people indulge in at any age and it’s a very nice thing when they share it for others to enjoy, as well. Please just enjoy someone’s art and live a little. I promise you will be much happier and peaceful if you just read a good fic without worrying about the age of whoever produced it. I guarantee you a lot of the BEST fics you’ll read will come from the older writers they are literally doing you a favor if you happen to enjoy reading fanfic. Why bite the hand that feeds you?

[acupofinkedblood]

Banhammer x reader

TW: NSFW headcanons

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me that this guy isn’t a top as well as a hard dom. If one day you hear him saying that he is willing to switch the dynamic for once, that’s not him being sober at all, because his ego is too far within the reach to the point that if we jump from his ego to his IQ, we would be hospitalized because of how impactful the fall was. Banhammer will rather bite his own tongue than thinking what will turn out if he’s a sub, let alone a bottom. He will be damned if he says that out loud to you. And it’s almost engraved in his mind that he is more cut out to be the one in charge, so there is no argument in that aspect sweetheart

• Banhammer, as expected, is quite the size to deal with. As if his appearance didn’t make it obvious to you that he’s a big guy. You know that you’re in for a ride full of surprises when the two of you get into it. To say that Banhammer isn’t the kinky type is actually not that accurate, but when we drag him over to the scale with other certain demons that is probably far more off the ground than him, you can tell that he is there somewhere in the middle ‘having sex’ tier but also pretty close to the ‘fucking wild’ tier. You get what I mean by that, don’t you?

• Definitely enjoys the size difference between the two of you. Heck, I mean it when he is big in both aspects. Seeing you so small in physique compared to him brings that shit-eating grin on his face. Just the thought of if he towers over you completely, everyone can only see his back without knowing that you’re also there. It feeds his ego, you know that. On side note, he has two specific tones of voice: His normal voice and his warden voice. The warden voice is more threatening and harsher, even a grunt of his in that tone is enough to make anyone stops on sight. He likes to use that on you, basically commanding you around like he is using his authority against you. Seeing you fold that quick when his voice suddenly drops just make him want to go further to see how long can you stand it

• Also enjoys handcuffing you behind your back as if you’re a criminal, in which he also enjoys holding the chain of the cuffs to drag you close to him without giving you time to react that he’s right after you. Blindfolding you is also there on the list. It makes things more interesting because you will have no idea where is he going to touch you next. Beside, you know his teeth are sharp, right? He absolutely loves marking you up in the most visible spot ever to show everyone around that you belong to him. Good luck covering it up in hot weather though, because I can assure you that he doesn’t play around when making sure that you’re completely covered in hickeys and love bites

• In certain cases when he’s in his office — although you know it’s mostly for show, he doesn’t even touch paperwork in the slightest after all — after a chase with a certain criminal that keeps slipping away and testing his patience almost every single damn time, he might get a bit pent up in annoyance. If you’re there to rile him up, he isn’t opposed the idea of taking you right there and right now on his working desk. The audacity he has to shoo his subordinates when they knock onto the door for permission with a somewhat normal shout while pounding into you, it’s so annoying yet questionably hot

• He doubts that you can handle him fully, although he won’t say it aloud in front of you. As much as it’s in his nature to be hasty, he still knows how to keep his pace steadily slow so that he won’t hurt you. Slow, but the roughness is still present there. Most of the time is you riding him after all. He knows exactly where is that sweet spot that will make you see the star and just keep going deep against it over and over again in a pace that will satisfy the both of you. A head up for you specifically though: He can’t really keep tab on whether or not is he being too rough or not, so you gotta tell him if it’s too much for you to handle

• Not too keen on oral when it comes to receiving, if I dare say. However, when it’s about him pleasing you, that’s another story. His tongue is pretty thick, yet he knows how to use the right way to make you scream in bliss by some unknown reasons. He enjoys eating you out as foreplay, and he is damn good at it. And by that logic, sit on his face. He loves that shit

• Do I have to remind you how much of a bastard he is? Even when he isn’t annoying you in purpose for attention, do you think he will make it any easier when he’s having sex with you? Lowkey into degrading you slightly as well, so that’s just the deadly combination that exits in him. This asshole will make you beg for him to give you what you want. Unless he is in the mood to have mercy on you, you’re stuck with that damn attitude of his

• Isn’t it that clear on how much endurance he has after seeing him dragging that gigantic hammer of his around to send criminals right into their cells without breaking a sweat? Guess that’s a blessing that comes with being a demi-deity. He can and will wreck you until you pass out if you allow him to. If he doesn’t have anything else important enough on his working schedule the day after, then I hope you’re ready for what he brings to the table. Walking right away after it isn’t recommended, you will fall almost immediately. Just saying

• Despite being such a dick most of the time, he knows that you will probably be — more or less — spent like hell afterwards. Banhammer will be less mouthy than usual when he’s finished with you. He’ll check up on you physically first to see if everything is fine before running a bath for the two of you. Then he will ask how are you holding up, do you need anything else after this, is there anything you wanna tell him. He’s fine with feedback, don’t worry about it. Compliments are almost a must as well, he won’t hesitate to tell you how great you have been and how much he loves you. Even when it might be corny as hell hearing it from him, but hey, that’s a rare moment when he isn’t being an asshole, so savor it

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

[cathnospam]

“I didn’t shave—“

“I do not…give a fuck. Open your legs.”

You and Bakugo have this argument at least once a month. You only need to wax your little lady once a month after your period , and it’s about that time to do so but you have 2 problems;

Your appointment isn’t until 2 more days, and you have a boyfriend that has been waiting a full week to eat you out.

“‘Suki I told you I hate—-“

“Why do you give a fuck about that? It’s HAIR.”

“I FEEL DIRTY.”

“You just took an everything shower.”

Bakugo NEVER understood the point of shaving your pussy anyway. He genuinely does not care whether there is hair or not on it, and after having an irritating crave to eat your pussy he definitely couldn’t care less.

“It’s a bush.”

“I don’t—- y/n the area I wanna suck—“

“Don’t be a pervert.”

He deadpanned at you, the Blondie also never cared for how blunt he was with his dirty words. Just two weeks ago you and him were eating cereal when he just casually spoke, “When I get home tonight I wanna eat your pussy against the door like I did last night.” As he gets up to clean his bowl.

No emotion

And no care.

He’s a damn savage.

“Your clit don’t have hair on it it’s just the lips.”

“OMY fucking—“

“Please.”

You blink, “what…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Bakugo groans loudly and lays his head on your shoulder. And bites it, “OW!” The main reason why Bakugo haven’t let up is because you and him established a strict safe word rule. He knows he can be pushy with things he wants but he’d never want to make you uncomfortable about it. If you GENUINELY don’t want him to all you have to say is “TNT” and he’ll drop it no questions asked. And never bring it up again.

But here you are, contemplating.

Your thoughts get broken by a soft kiss on your jaw, his scarred warm palms lifting your his shirt , playfully tapping his fingers on your clothed panties, “I heard you playing with yourself in the shower.”

You freeze, feeling his devious smirk against your cheek, his natural scent and musk clouding your mind as he keeps kissing you, rubbing on your body, “You want it as bad as I do. I fucking know you do.”

“Remember last time?”

He had your knees to your ears last time, ass hanging off the edge of the bed as he spit, licked, and sucked all inside and on your pussy. His fluffy hair tickling your inner thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin so deep you could just barely grind against his mouth. Bakugo was always a nasty ass eater to the point you were embarrassed just watching him.

His ring and middle finger swirling circles on your clit as his tongue filled your aching tight hole, the way he stops for a moment to kiss the soft little nub , nearly making out with it making you roll your eyes because his pillowy wet lips felt soooooo good against you.

You remembered how he’d slap your ass a few times when you looked away for too long or covered your mouth, you swore he’d heat up his hands slightly just to do so.

You remembered how he’d hold your ankles up and he licked stripes against your pussy and his tongue teasing your other hole.

You remembered how he’d swished his head back and fourth while his lips captured your clit and tugged on it. Sending you over the edge while he sucked and groaned. Two fingers pumping inside you.

“You remember, huh.” His raspy voice against your ear, already teasing his fingers inside you panties, “You came so much you passed out right after.”

The more he spoke to distract you the further he got, eventually laying you down on his huge couch, to pulling off your panties, to opening you legs, to kissing each thigh, and down to repeating his exact actions from last time.

And no he did NOT care about the hair.

[the-somwthing]

Random thing that came to mind, The watcher-iest Grian in all of the videos is the one from Jimmy's superflat survival, he just observes Jimmy as he tries to find a way to beat the game, and actively stops Lizzie and Joel from helping and intervening, he just watches as Jimmy goes around like a headless chicken. It's interesting to me.

Are you talking about the one where they tried to beat the game or something else lol

[monstersflashlight]

Day 4. Monster-kinktober: Deep Sea + Bitemarks/Ice Play

A/N: I took liberties about the deep sea part, hope y’all don’t mind. It ended up being a lot more plot and a lot more fluffy than anticipated, bon apetite!

Orca-hybrid x fem!reader || marking, temperature play, soulmates

When they offer you to travel to the North Pole to do some research on the orca-hybrids up there, you are all over the moon. You’ve been obsessed with them since you had enough brain to think, you even studied marine biology and specialized in sea hybrids so you could study them more (very neurodivergent of you).

You spend the whole trip there being jittery and excited, to the point everyone starts teasing you about your love for orca-hybrids. You blush and don’t say nothing, they don’t even know half of it. You are obsessed with them in every way possible. Which means there’s a big chance you have a bit more than interest in them… more of a sexual interest. But who could blame you? They are tall and exotic, could walk on two feet but also swim incredibly well… They are the best of both worlds and you are about to see them for the first time, to talk to them for the first time. You could barely contain a squeal when the helicopter landed on the base and you saw the orca village not far from there. They were so close!

And things only get better from there.

The first day you approach the village to do some interviews and asks about their habits and culture, they welcome you like a friend, and you are all over the moon all over again. They are so interesting and so different from humans that your brain is going a thousand times per minute at every new piece of information they give you.

And when the son’s leader appears and you see him for the first time, your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes meet for the first time in front of everyone in the village, and you feel how your pulse accelerates as he approaches. He kneels on the floor in front of you, much to your surprise and everyone else around you. You know that it means he respects you over himself, which is a huge deal in orca-hybrid culture. You don’t even know what to say when he introduces himself and asks about your name. You stutter for a bit until you finally get the words out as everyone else just stares at you two.

You leave that day with a red face and a new friend.

All of your colleagues ask you about it for hours, how did you do it, how did you get that amount of respect as easy and fast. But you don’t know, you don’t understand it either. But the next day when you go outside to grab your motorbike and get to the village, he’s already waiting outside the door.

“Good morning,” he lets out in a deep voice. Your whole body shivers and you try to convince yourself that it’s because of the cold and not because his presence makes you weak in the knees.

“Good morning,” you respond, casually vowing in front of him. He looks surprised at your gesture, but repeats it with a big smile that shows all his teeth. It should be creepy or scary, considering how giant his mouth and teeth are, but you find it weirdly cute. You blush again, it feels like every time you are in his presence you can’t stop blushing.

You give him a ride to the village, and he holds your much smaller body against his like you are the most precious thing in the world, making you feel all kinds of flirty. And that’s how it goes. He walks up to the base, he accompanies you everywhere, he spends more and more time with you. You two talk and talk, and discover more and more about him and his people. Every time you are in the village, he’s not far away, his eyes always on you. And you… you are falling for him. And you have no idea if he feels the same way, you don’t even know if orca-hybrids like humans in that way.

But everything changes after a month. He rides with you to the village, but this time, once you are there, he takes your hand and walks away with you, your colleagues long forgotten as some other orca-hybrids lead them in another direction.

“Where are we going?” You ask when you are a few meters away.

He looks down at you and smiles. “I’m taking you to the cave.”

You try not to be too excited, you know about the cave, but it’s not possible he’s leading you to their sacred cave, the one no outsiders can step into, right? There’s no way. “What cave?” You ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“The sacred cave, I need to show something to you there,” he says, cryptically. But you don’t even pay attention to his tone or his words after he says the word sacred. He’s leading you to the most special place in his culture, and you are going to be the first human to see it.

Oh. My. God.

When you arrive, you are mesmerized. Everything is covered in a soft layer of ice and some kind of plant you’ve never seen before. It looks like normal grass, but when you touch it, it moves, like tiny tentacles undulating at the rhythm of unknown forces. Your orca-hybrid crush stares at you with a smile on his face until you have touched and probed and oh-ed and ah-ed everything around you.

You stare at him, your eyes shiny with tears because of the emotion of being there. “Why did you take me here?” You finally whisper, not wanting to disturb the pace of such a place.

“You are my mate,” he announces, and your breath gets caught in your throat. You know what that means, you’ve been studying them long enough to know. Orcas mate for life. Oh, goddess. He looks at you with uncertainty in his eyes. “Don’t you feel it? The pull?”

“I- I do. But it’s not the same for humans. How can you be sure of it?”

“You smell so good that I want to taste you, that’s how. Nobody else smells as good as you do, my mate,” his words sound like a reverence, and you are about to collapse from all the feelings running around in your body. You look at him with your mouth hanging open, not fully processing his words. “I know you are the one. The one who completes your soul. The one who would form a family with you and protect you from every danger in the world. The companionship that will make your life whole and your heart beats for somebody else.” You feel a tear running down your cheek at the same time he leans down and engulfs you in a crushing hug. “Do you accept being my mate? Say yes,” he pleads.

You push his chest a bit and look at his eyes trying to decipher whatever is happening inside of you. But the only thought that comes to mind is how right he feels, how amazing it’s been to be with him all those days… He feels right. “Yes,” you murmur, grabbing his big head and pulling him down in a crushing kiss.

“How does it work?” You ask.

“I will mark you and we will be joined for life,” he explains. You feel almost vertigo at the thought of being with him forever, but at the same time you feel warmth and heat, and a conviction so big it leaves you breathless. It is what you should do, you know that. “Ready?” He asks when he lowers his mouth to your neck. You nod and he bites down, you arch your back and cry out at the sensation.

What you thought was going to be painful is so pleasurable your brain stops working for a second, your whole body reacting to it, heat running down your spine until you are desperate. You whine when he pulls out his teeth, kissing softly around it until your knees are weak and you are so wet it’s insane.

It’s exhilarating, and when he undresses you completely and lays you down on the weird undulating grass, you can feel it caressing your skin. You realize then you can’t feel the cold, something inside of you changing and adapting to your new mate. He takes an icicle from the closest wall, smirking down at you and running it over your body, over all your sensitive places until you are a mess under him, until you are even wetter and more desperate. You need him like you need air.

“Make love to me,” you plead. He smiles at you and kisses you again, his mouth still tasting like blood, but also something indescribable.

“Whatever you want, my mate.” He doesn’t discard the icicle, rubbing it around your nipples and making you moan like a whore as you feel the tip of his huge cock in your entrance. He made sure to make you so wet it slides right in, your body accommodating him instantly. You groan and he shushes you, “don’t worry, my mate, the bite took root and you are perfect for me now, we fit like two puzzle pieces.”

He keeps pushing until he’s fully inside of you, until your brain is blank and your body is shivering with the need to explode. He rubs the icicle over your clit at the same time he thrusts his scalding member inside of you, the combination of temperatures is so extreme that you start shivering, your pussy contracting around him and making him moan over you. He keeps praising you and your body and your pussy and everything that has to do with you, to the point you are blushing and your heart feels too big inside your body.

You are about to tell him you love him when flashes appear behind your closed eyes and your body explodes in the most intense orgasm of your life, his body going rigid over yours as you feel his shaft getting slightly bigger as he starts to come. You scream his name as you scratch his back, and he kisses the marks on your neck until your body stops trembling under him.

“I love you, my mate,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, almost asleep.

[rileyslibrary]

You’ve just moved in with Simon. Great.

There’s one slight problem, though: Due to the nature of his work, the guy interprets everything as an order. And executes accordingly.

———————————————————————

You sit on the kitchen’s table, enjoying breakfast together, when you notice the full trash bin.

“The trash needs to be taken out,” you casually mention, not giving it too much thought.

But, to your surprise, Simon shoots up from his chair like a coiled spring, leaving his half-eaten food behind. “Roger that,” he responds and jogs towards the trash bin, leaving you baffled.

“Simon?”

He stops and turns to look at you.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to do it right now.”

“When do you want it done?” he asks, waiting for your next command.

“Wh-whenever you can,” you reply, uncertain how else to phrase it.

“I can do it now,” Simon declares and proceeds to the trash bin.

“Babe, we’re eating.” You say and point at the semi-eaten food on the kitchen table.

He looks at the food, then back at you. He shrugs.

“No,” you state, “Come sit down and finish your breakfast first.”

He nods as if Price just gave him the objectives for his next mission and jogs to the table to resume his breakfast.

He’s always like this. Last week, you found a cockroach running in the bathroom, and you screamed so loud that he almost kicked the door. When he asked you what you wanted him to do, your first instinct was a very loud and clear “KILL IT!” without thinking about your statement’s repercussions. He chased it around, murmuring stuff like “Target’s on the move” and other nonsense until he trapped the cockroach in a corner. He stepped on it once and twisted his foot. The cockroach was dead. Gone. Kaput. But he wanted to do it again, to “confirm the kill.” When you told him there was no need since the cockroach was already a pulp and left you all to a better place, he refused and ordered an “evac” of the bathroom to “do it properly.” And when you asked if “properly” meant an AK-47 and camo apparel, he thought about it long and hard before agreeing that further escalation would be unnecessary.

Be it his ingrained behaviour as a soldier to execute orders, deeply rooted within his system, or his fear not to let you down, he was finding it difficult to leave his work duties at the door. He always carried them inside—in the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. He acted like Ghost, not Simon. Everything was a matter of order to him, and there was no time for relaxation.

But it doesn’t have to be like this; you want him to know that. He doesn’t have to be so rigid at home. He can relax and take a step back from his institutionalised habits.

To prove your point, you decide to give him another instruction, this time more indirectly.

You glance at the sink; some pans are picking out from making breakfast this morning.

“Oh boy,” you moan, trying to pull off an act, “we have to clean the dishes at some point.”

He raises his head to look at the kitchen sink, then sides-eyes you.

“Any particular time you want that done?” He asks, ironically.

“I said ‘at some point’, Simon,” you snap, “there’s no urgency.”

“You also said we ‘have’ to do it,” he snaps back. “‘Have to’ has some sort of urgency in it, doesn’t it?”

You chuckle, impressed by his attention to detail. “You’re right, but it’s more of a general statement,” you reply. “We can do it whenever it’s convenient.”

Simon processes your words and nods.

You stare at him while he eats, and you feel a tug at your heart, urging you to address the underlying issue on your mind. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words to express your feelings without offending him. You reach out and touch his arm to grab his attention. He turns to face you.

“You’re so dedicated to what you do; it’s one of the things I love about you,” you begin, “but our home should be a place where we can both unwind and be ourselves without feeling like we’re constantly on a mission.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” he asks.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, wanting to explain them in a way that resonates with him.

“Well, when you jump to fulfil every request or task like it’s an order, it sometimes feels like we’re always on duty,” you explain gently. “I want us to create a more relaxed atmosphere here, where we can enjoy each other’s company and take things at a slower pace.”

He thinks about it for a while.

“Am I doing that?” He asks.

You slowly nod with a gentle smile.

“Affirmative,” he replies, “I’ll try to take it down a notch.”

“No ‘roger’, no ‘affirmative’, nothing like that is needed here,” you explain.

“Is ‘alright’ alright?” He asks.

“Yes,” you smile, “alright is alright.”

He finishes his breakfast and puts his dish in the sink.

“So,” he says, pointing one hand at the dirty dishes and the other at the bin. “Is there any particular order in which you want these two to be done?”

You smile. “No, babe; you take out the trash, and I’ll do the dishes.”

“Underst-alright, alright.” He corrects himself and walks to the garbage. He ties up the bag’s strings and picks up the bin. He spots you looking at him.

“Am I doing something wrong?” He hesitates.

“Why are you taking the entire bin with you?”

He keeps looking at you and places the bin on the floor.

“Just in case the bag’s ripped,” he explains, “I don’t want to spill garbage juice on the floor.”

“Oh.”

“Should I take the bag only?” He asks and begins to remove it from the bin.

“No… that’s pretty smart, actually.”

He raises his eyebrows and points a thumb at himself.

“Yes, Simon,” you nod and smile, “you’re pretty smart and considerate. I’ll carry out the same procedure while on trash bin duty.”

He puffs up his chest and picks up the bin with the bag in it.

“I’m dedicated, smart and considerate.” You hear him boast to himself as he walks towards the exit, ready to execute his mission.

———————————————————————

[mysicklove]

cw: sub! megumi, dom! gn! reader, overstimulation, handjobs (as always), dacryphilia, slight sadism in reader, slight masochism in megumi? teasing, "good boy" used once.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i have been recently hating my writing style guys what do I do </3 also I did this instead of hw so tonight is gonna suck.

“waitwaitwaitwait!” megumi mumbles into your neck for the third time this night. you feel another round of tears drip onto your collarbone, and shaky hands grip your t-shirt in a plea. he was naked — his pale skin seeming to flush a shade of red, and his spine was curved as he caved in over himself.

your thumb circles around the tip, teasing it until you watch another glob of precum bead at his slit. you crane your neck to look at him, using your free hand to tilt his chin up to press a small kiss to his lips. “doing so good,” you mumble into his mouth, and he lets out a broken sob, “staying still and taking it. we don’t need any rope today.”

his whole body feels to be on fire, and with every stroke of your hand, a whole new wave of overstimulation forces another shiver. the boy's mouth hangs open, lip glistening from a mix of saliva from your mouth and tears. “you’re so mean to me."

“poor thing,” you coo, knowing that you aren't going to do anything about his complaint. instead, you use your thumb to brush away some tears. he sniffles at you, nodding his head to hopefully coax some more praise. but your mind travels back to your movements, your wrists twisting back and forth as you focus on the red tip. “but you look so cute like this, i can’t help it, y’know that.”

his head falls back onto your shoulder, and immediately, he plants kisses on your neck, nibbling at the skin to try and distract himself. the top of his dark hair was matted with sweat, but the tips of it tickled your collarbone. you use your thumb to rub at his cheek as you continue to stroke him off, ignoring his sporadic jerks of pain. “can you cum again? just one more time, for me?”

the noise megumi lets out is meek, pathetic even, and he shakes his head into your chest. he has begun to hiccup from the intensity of his sobs, and his hand hasn't moved from gripping fiercely at your shirt. "last one," he breathes, rubbing his nose into your skin, "p-promise its the last one!"

you grab his face again with one hand and begin to pepper it with kisses, successfully wiping away more tears as he whines with shut eyes. his eyelashes are globbed together, and when he opens them again, he narrows them at you, slightly peeved and scared at your lack of response. "promise," he manages to get out before he bites his lip from you rubbing your pointer finger over his slit.

"fine, fine, I promise," you concede, and your hand stops teasing him, instead fully pumping him from base to tip. the act makes his thighs tremble, and you push them slightly more apart to give you easier access. the redness of his cock contrasts his pale skin adorably, and you can't help you're staring as he continues to leak.

"it hurts," he whimpers, mostly to himself, because all he can think about is how overwhelmed he feels. his thoughts are spinning, and even just the slightest touches on other parts of his body seem to startle him due to him focusing his entire attention on trying not to rip your hand off of his cock.

you don't pay attention to the whine, instead just pressing more kisses to his flushed cheeks, nibbling gently at the flesh while he sniffles. but, even with all the complaints and whines he was letting out, you've noticed that his hips have begun to buck back into your hand, only making the lewd noise louder. he tries to pretend that it was you who was torturing him, but his movements were of his own free will.

"you like it now?"

"no!" he says much too quickly, flashing you panicked eyes. "i-i just. 's not my fault!" at this point, you have fully stopped your movements just to watch in admiration of the boy. he was desperate in his movements, and with each thrust of his hips into the makeshift hole a coo leaves your mouth.

"aw, look, now you're getting excited. do you want to cum, megumi?" you purr, brushing his bangs back while twisting your other wrist. his eyes roll back, and his mouth remains open as he lets out quick, short breaths. now, his noises consisted more of moans rather than pained whimpers as he started to chase his high.

"n-no—yes. fuck I-" is all he manages to get out before your mouth is pressed onto his. but he pulls away only five seconds later due to his rapid heartbeat and the need for oxygen to keep up with it. you just chuckle at him and increase your speed, eyes flickering from the sight between his legs and his flushed face.

his thighs begin to squeeze shut, and his moans begin to increase in pitch, a telltale sign that he is teetering near his high. you chuckle at him when he begins to latch onto your neck, planting sloppy kisses to whatever surface he can. "are you close?"

he doesnt even attempt to speak, instead just nodding his head lazily. the act makes you roll your eyes and squeeze just a tad too hard on his dick in warning. he lets out a squeak at the feeling, and this time he does speak up. "yeah. yes. yes. c-close."

you pet his head, satisfied with his answer. "good boy. you can cum, alright?"

another set of tears pools in his eyes, and this time you cock your head to the side. "why are you crying 'gumi? I didn't hurt you that bad, did I?"

"no," he sniffles, "sorry d-dont stop. feels good, don't know why I'm crying. just don't stop!"

"relax. relax. I'm not," you reassure, kissing his face again. "you're lucky you are so cute, with all your demands."

he ignores you like he usually does when you tease him, but you are unsure if it is because he is being his usual self or because he is lost in pleasure.

seconds later, his hands grab at your shoulder, and he goes silent for a breath. then, just as the first rope shoots out, he cries, "cuming! of fuck. fuck!"

your lover's entire body quivers, and his mouth latches into your skin as the first wave washes over him. his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open with a silent scream. more tears come tumbling down his face, and you watch as the most pathetic amount of cum tonight comes dribbling out. it slides down his flushed cock and mixes with the movements of your hands.

eventually, when he comes down from his high and feels the stinging lick of overstimulation once again, he immediately forces your hand off, pinning the white-stained limb to the ground with frantic eyes. then he turns to you, even with his body jerking every couple of seconds from the aftershock, and glares at you — it doesn't hold much effect, considering his cheeks were flushed red and eyelashes were wet with tears, but it was cute nonetheless. "no. more."

you grin at the demand and use your clean hand to ruffle his hair. "your wish is my command, princess."

he narrows his eyes at the nickname, and the man tears himself from your arms. "I am going to shower," he mumbles before using all of his strength to stand up. he takes a step forward, and immediately he comes tumbling down.

megumi pretends he doesn't see the way his legs are trembling, but you see the way his ear twinged red in humiliation. you, of course, use it to your advantage. "need a little help there, Bambi?"

"you're not allowed to touch me for a week," he grumbles but grabs onto your arm and lets himself be left to the bathroom. it was an empty threat, as they usually are.

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

��Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[sukirichi]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐒. 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮

— in which you and your fuck buddy pretend to date, which totally won’t lead to feelings at all, right?

content / warnings. toxic college settings. explicit smut. MINORS DNI. choking. exhibitionism. fingering. making out. masturbation. voyeurism. toxic characters. reverse cowgirl riding. implied dub-con. friends with benefits. fake dating. unedited.

dedicated to @kyriaan

The sixth beep of your phone that cursed morning had you shuffling around your bag for the device, fishing it out and muting it with exasperation. To no one’s surprise, he was the sole topic again. Oikawa this and Oikawa that — how he’d be such a great boyfriend to you and your friends could also go on dates with his equally charismatic friends; you were tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.

“Funny seeing you here,” a bored voice drawled out, the scraping of a chair against the floor snapping you to your senses. “Never in my whole life did I imagine I’d find you hiding in a library of all places — are you reading Freud? His theories are shit. They’re not even scientifically proven.”

You raised a brow at Suna Rintaro, your not-so friend friend.

You and Rintaro had a strict friends with benefits relationship.

It started with meeting at a party once when you needed a release from the stress of finals, you made out on the crowded dance floor and found yourselves tangled in the sheets with barely any memory of the night before. The rest was history. Soon, you ran into him more often than you’d expected, and it wasn’t long before you added his name into speed dial.

Funnily enough, you weren’t that close to him.

You either knew everything about him or knew little to nothing. Most of the time you spent with Rintaro would be when you two were drunk out of your minds, bodies too occupied with moving against one another that ‘getting to know each other’ had never been a thing.

For some reason, however, Rintaro was someone you could trust with your whole heart. You just wouldn’t date him because you weren’t looking for a relationship, and neither was he.

Both of you loved the arrangement you had now.

“Why do you know so much about Freud? I just randomly picked up this book.”

Rintaro shrugged, “‘Hooked up with a girl in Psychology once; she was pretty hot, but you’re still my favourite,” winking, he chewed on his gum before snatching the book away from you.

A protest nearly fell from your mouth when a mop of wavy, dark hair sauntered inside the library, taking long, confident strides as he chatted with Iwaizumi. Eyes widening, you ducked your head behind Suna, desperately clutching the hoodie clad on his stiff back.

Rintaro glanced downwards at you, “You’re hiding like you murdered somebody’s pet. Should I be worried or should I help you in hiding someone’s body?”

“Literally shut up. Oikawa is right there.”

“Oikawa... Tooru?” following your line of sight, Rintaro’s back slouched at the same time his lips curled into a mischievous smile. You could tell he was stifling his laughter; the vibrations of his back spoke enough of his urge to betray you. “Oh, he’s looking here. At you, I might say — care to explain?”

“I have nothing to explain to you. We’re not even friends.”

“Ouch,” Rintaro clutched at his chest, “That hurt. Weren’t you at my dorm like five nights in a row last week? You didn’t want me to leave the bed either. I thought we had something special!”

“Suna Rintaro, I am not fucking around with you. Shut up. I swear if Oikawa walks here, I’m never talking to you again.”

As if to prove a point, you plopped until your upper body squished against his back and the chair, cheeks puffing out in frustration as Rintaro sighed. “Okay, you don’t have to explain anything to me, but come on. You’re using me as a human shield and I have zero context on what’s going on,” he tapped your thigh, head slightly tilted to the side with a wary eye out for Oikawa. “Listen, if he’s bothering you, I could deal with it. He looks like the type of guy who doesn’t know what ‘no’ means so if that’s the case, stop hiding. I can help you with it. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Your grip on his hoodie listened. Peering up from the bottom of your lashes, you nervously licked your lips. “Wait... you mean that? You’ll really help me?”

“Yeah! You send me nudes that motivate me to ace my exams so this is the least I could do.”

“You just have to make everything sexual, don’t you?” you rolled your eyes and ignored Rintaro’s shameless smile. Scanning the room, you glared at Oikawa’s direction before sitting up and gluing yourself to Rintaro’s hip, whose brow raised but said nothing otherwise. “Okay, so the thing is... my friends may or may not have set me up with Oikawa. They kind of gave him false hope I’m really into him — which I never will be because he has a shitty personality — but he’s not having any of it. He insisted I should go with him on just one date, and if I still don’t change my mind about him, then he won’t push further. Otherwise, he really doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s everywhere that I ended up blurting out I was already dating someone.”

Rintaro rested his chin on his palm. “That’s a lot of information to take in,” he mused, “So... you need help in finding a fake boyfriend, is that it?”

“About that,” with guilt written all over your face, you scratched the back of your neck and chuckled, making sure to avoid eye contact the entire time. “You were the first one to come to mind so I told him I was dating the middle blocker from his team. The uhm, guy who stays up until three am fighting in Twitter threads.”

Rintaro’s jaw dropped. “No way,” he clicked his tongue, hands coming up to ball beside your cheeks as he fought the desire to squeeze your cheeks. Meanwhile, you blinked at him innocently, lower lip jutted out in hopes you’d appease him — which more or less worked as he slumped in his seat. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“You did and you chose to date me!” Rintaro hissed under his breath, “Jeez, if you wanted us to be official, you could’ve said so. I would’ve thought about it,” exhaling through his nose, Rintaro pushed his hair back, his head too much of a mess to notice you getting flustered. “Fine. I’ll be your fake boyfriend, but don’t you dare fall in love with me. Our condition when we started sleeping together was that we’re limited to casual relationships only. I like our arrangement already, and you mean a lot to me as a friend so I don’t want to lose you, alright? Whatever we’re doing, it’s all going to be an act.”

“Deal,” you shook his hand, face lighting up at how it didn’t take much to convince him. “Now go to the party with me tonight. We’ll show Oikawa why he can’t have me.”

The sight of bodies grinding onto another and music blaring through the speakers weren’t new to you and Rintaro. You’d both seen the same scene a thousand times before, having been part of that crowd at one point. Yet, tonight felt different from rest. The music felt muted as you walked through the door with Rintaro’s hand down on your waist, the stench of alcohol and sex overpowered by the musky perfume your fake boyfriend wore.

You couldn’t think clear around him.

You tried to blame it on the jitters that set your nerves on fire, anxiety pooling in your stomach at the thought Oikawa made it clear he wanted to see you tonight.

Of course, you weren’t stupid. Knowing the guy infamous for his reputation for sleeping around and changing partners like they were his clothes, he wouldn’t give up once he had his eyes set on someone. It just so happened that unfortunate person had to be you.

“Relax,” Rintaro breathed into your ear, pulling you closer by the hip when you weaved through the people nearly fucking on the floor. The sudden gesture had you jolting for a split second. Blinking, Rintaro’s reassuring smile greeted you with a tinge of amusement, his gaze tracing down your nails forming crescent moons on his arm. “Do you really have to cling to me all night?”

“We’re supposed to be a couple madly in love, remember?” you reminded with a bounce of your heel, surveying the throng of people milling in and out of the frat house in search of Oikawa.  “You should kiss me too as soon as we see him. Then he’ll stop bothering me and we can be over with this fiasco.”

“Asking just in case, but how should I kiss you? Like a peck?”

“Kiss me like you want the whole world to know I’m yours,” you said nonchalantly, not thinking too much of it since this was supposed to be an act. Until a horde of loud males started cheering as soon as they entered the room, the crowd welcoming Oikawa and his friends warmly when Rintaro suddenly grabbed you by the wrist, twisting you to face him. The last thing you saw before Rintaro tilted his head to the side to press his lips to yours was the look of utter horror on Oikawa’s face.

Although, honestly, who cared? Rintaro tasted like beer and strawberries, his musky scent clouding your senses that your eyes closed in response.

Knees weakening, you grabbed onto Rintaro’s shoulders to steady yourself, gasping into his greedy lips when you felt him squeeze your hip possessively. You groaned into the kiss, your hands running up to play with the ends of his hair as Rintaro’s back hit the wall, his bent leg trapped between your thighs. He quickly took the chance and nudged his knee on your clothed pussy. Your skirt grazed against your sensitive core that you attempted to pull away to breathe, but Rintaro wasn’t having any of it.

Smirking beneath you, Rintaro hooked a finger into the chains dangling from your skirt and pulled you flush against him. You had no time to react before he was pushing a tongue past your lips. Warm, wet muscles danced against each other as Rintaro memorized the taste of you the same way you did for him — not a single care about air anymore when he made those low, deep whimpers setting fire to your loins.

But just as soon as you leaned in for more, his hair tugged backward to deepen the kiss, Rintaro pulled away. “That’s how I’d kiss you if I were your boyfriend,” he declared, pads of his thumb swiping against his moist lip swollen from the little nips you gave him — the look of pleasure and satisfaction displayed all over his handsome face that told you how much he enjoyed your needy whines.

You gaped at him, your skin burning from being edged.

Rintaro flicked you on the forehead. “Don’t look at me like that. You asked me to kiss like I wanted to let the world know your mine, and he was looking. Besides, we need to show someone who you belong to, right?” pushing his weight off the wall, Rintaro lightly bit your earlobe as you breathed hard, his sharp, cold gaze focused on a flushed red Oikawa standing across the room. “I have a better idea if you’re up for it.”

Arms crossed against your chest, you wrapped your arms around his waist in faux affection, when in reality you only needed to hear what he said through the loud music. “What do you have in mind?” The smirk on Rintaro’s face was as loud as a warning siren.

“Turn around.”

Even if you didn’t want to, Rintaro wasn’t asking. He spun you around by the shoulders, your back flushed against his chest when you felt his knee nudge between your legs once more. His fingers calloused from playing volleyball snaked past your thigh and dangerously close to your heated pussy. “This is what I had in mind,” he whispered, his voice sending tingles straight down your spine. “Let’s burn that pretty face of yours into his head. Show him what he can’t have.”

Your dignity told you to say no. To be fingered in public like this was less than ideal, even more so when your lace panties dangerously flashed into view. Yet, you found yourself arching your back to retaliate.

Ass nudging against Rintaro’s hardening cock, you smirked upon hearing his low groans. One palm cupped your ass as a warning before he playfully snapped your underwear against your thigh, a wince painting your half fucked out features from the sting. Glancing at him from the side, you sneered, about to protest when he wiggled his free hand and cupped your pussy.

Your mouth hung open.

Oikawa’s drink fell from his hands. No longer was he paying any attention to his friends, rather on the way you keened and your tongue threatening to loll out your lips the moment Rintaro’s thumb flicked your clit.

“You’re such a naughty slut. Who knew you were into this?”

“He’s watching, Rintaro,” you whimpered, gripping at his wrist like he wasn’t knuckle deep in your pants already. “Someone could see and think we’re—”

“That’s the point,” lowering his mouth onto your neck, you gasped at his teeth sinking down on the skin. Behind you, you could hear the hand on your ass disappear at the sounds of a belt unbuckling, fuelling your imagination to both the best and worst scenarios. Rintaro wasn’t far behind in his surprise as were you; you never expected you’d enjoy giving someone a show either, much less cum on the spot the second Rintaro’s cock slipped inside you. “Aw, fuck, did you just come undone for me? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You shook your head, palms slippery with sweat as you held onto his slick hands squeezing your waist. The music was no longer audible from the pounding of your heart. Hell, you could barely feel your legs when Rintaro mumbled something incoherent around you before he guided your connected bodies onto a nearby couch.

Plopping down with your weight on top of him, you held onto his knees for dear life. Rintaro settled on the leather couch occupied by a stoned student laughing by himself, the latter’s chuckles halting when he was greeted by the sight of your hazy eyes and pants falling from your mouth. Meanwhile, Rintaro rested his arms on the back of his head. He didn’t have to lift a finger, much less give a command for you to know he wanted you to ride him right here — if you looked straight across, Oikawa would be right before you a few feet away, his frown deeply engraved into his face.

“Rin, I...”

He sat up in a flash at the hesitance in your voice, warm hands wrapping around your waist protectively. It took you a second to realize he hid his nestled cock from everyone’s prying eyes in case you weren’t comfortable, but the gesture did nothing but make you clench around him harder — both from the anxiety and anticipation.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you wanted people to watch. You wanted him to see Rintaro had total control over your body, no matter how humiliating the situation might be.

“Do you want us to stop? Should we go somewhere else?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you bent your legs to rest beside his thighs, fingers looping around the ones hooked under your breast to steady yourself before you lifted your hips, then slammed back down. Again and again, until sweat dripped from your head to your jaw, you kept eye contact with a red-faced Oikawa. All the while as you bounced on Rintaro’s dick and threw your head back, laughing with your whole chest at the lights spinning from the ceiling since it reminded you of the seventh heaven you were in.

Rintaro let you go at your own pace, his grunts and garbled utterances of your name blending with the party wilding from the background. You could feel him twitching inside of you. His cock bumped and grazed your walls until the tip kissed a particular sensitive spot that had you losing your balance for a moment, nails digging into his ripped jeans to catch your breath.

“Goddamn,” Rintaro cursed, stealing away your ability to breathe with his hand snaking into your neck. “You dirty fucking slut, getting off to acting like a whore in front of the whole campus, huh? Go on. Show them how you’re such a whore for my cock.”

You couldn’t swallow down your words.

Rintaro’s grip on your neck had you on a literal chokehold, strong enough to deprive you of air and tighten around him, but not to a point you felt lightheaded. If anything, the power he displayed only fuelled you to ride him harder. Drawing figure eights with your hip, you could feel drool smearing your lipstick as the red stains smudged against Rintaro’s palm, the sound of slick and skin slapping against skin like music to your ears.

Only Rintaro could ever make you feel this way.

From the night you’d met him, each time you fucked would be the best experience of your life. Not once had he failed in bringing you over the edge or experimenting with the most absurd positions you’d never thought of before, and now you were returning the favour.

You rode his cock like it was your last mission. ‘Death by cock’ didn’t sound like such an unfavourable thing either, not when it meant losing yourself in his thick girth spreading you wide and the lewd sight of your cum sticking to his thighs. His jeans were a mess, but Rintaro never complained. He didn’t care then, and he wouldn’t care now. Seeing you dirty his clothes, your sweat dampening his shirt and your own cum coating his cock like a rewarding trophy of what felt like the best night of his life — Rintaro didn’t give a single fuck about the mess.

“F-Fuck, Rin, I’m coming!”

Rintaro held your waist, taking over with complete control as he slammed your hips up and down his twitching cock, curses falling back and forth from his mouth. “Cum on me,” he ordered. Resting his chin on your shoulders, Rintaro’s other hand twisted your jaw in the direction of Oikawa biting his lip, his hand suspiciously following your movements from under the luminescent lights. “Look at that dirty fucker. Let’s show him what he missed out on, yeah?”

A burst of warmth exploded inside you. You were too stunned to move, thighs burning from the ache that you accepted it with delight before falling back into Rintaro’s chest. “That was the best fuck of my life,” you admitted through lidded eyes, “But we’re fucked tomorrow. The whole campus is going to talk about us.”

“Let them.”

Post-nut clarity hit you hard like a truck.

Albeit expecting the rumours and looks you’d be getting the next day, the blatant impressed stares mixed with some envious ones never got easier by the end of classes. Everywhere you went, people would be whispering. But like Rintaro always used to say each time you cried to him, there’d be light at the end of the tunnel, because the best part of it all that made everything worth it?

Oikawa avoided you like the plague. Not because he was appalled of what he’d witnessed and what he’d done, but rather word spread out how he’d been rejected.

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru felt humiliation, at the hands of his own teammate, no less — something Rintaro took pride in when you crashed by his room that night.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face. It was priceless,” he snickered while scrolling through the phone, about to comment when the door swung open, revealing a carbon copy replica of Rintaro. In female version.

Rintaro quickly shot out of bed and threw a blanket over your head, stalking to the girl standing with her mouth hanging ajar at the door. “What are you doing here? I thought you guys wouldn’t be home until the weekend. Plus, how’d the fuck you get inside the dorms? You’re not supposed to be here, Remi.”

Remi ignored him. “Are you hiding your girlfriend? Mom needs to know about this, she’d love to meet her!”

That was how you found yourself stuck to Rintaro in a cramped booth with his family not an hour later. You awkwardly picked at your food, stealing glances at an equally silent Rintaro while his younger sister, Remi, kept babbling about how her brother hid a girlfriend this whole time. His family went out of town for business for a while, but since they got home earlier, they decided to surprise Rintaro with a visit.

He sure was surprised, and so were you since they hadn’t stopped calling you ‘dear’ ever since.

His parents were nice — they warmly welcomed you and even invited you to have dinner with them sometime at their house. Mrs. Suna would whip up a meal to welcome you as part of their family, saying that you should consider it a thanks for making their son smile. Remi was the most excited out of all them. She’d been wanting an older sister for a while now, and she hadn’t stopped clinging onto your arm the whole time until her parents forcefully snatched her away when it was time go back home.

The entire walk back to the dorms felt suffocating.

None of you spoke a word, not until you arrived at your building and Rintaro shoved his hands down his pockets, swinging back and forth on his feet. “So... are you free this Friday? You should come have dinner with us.”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Why not? You’re invited. Don’t be rude and not go.”

“It’s not being rude, Rintaro, you’re asking me to lie to your parents,” you snapped, halting in your tracks to stare at him in disbelief. “They adored me all because they think I’m dating you, but we’re not the least bit close to that. We just fuck and call it day, maybe hang out when we’re bored, but we don’t know each other at all. And weren’t you the one who told me that we can’t be more than just fuck buddies?”

Rintaro rolled his eyes. “You’re right, but I agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend to push Oikawa away. Now do me a favour and keep up with the fake girlfriend thing. My parents will be devastated if I tell them we’re not real.”

“I don’t want to lie to them!”

“It’s not a big deal! Why’re you making a mountain out of everything? So because the deal on my side doesn’t require fucking, you’ll back out just like that?”

Your mouth hung open in shock. “It’s because I don’t want to be your fake girlfriend, Rintaro, I want to date you for real!” you blurted out, eyes widening at the same time Rintaro’s cheeks flushed. Realizing what you just said, you inwardly regretted it with a grimace. “I’m sorry. You said we can’t be more than that and I know I just ruined our friendship, but I’m really sorry. I can’t bring myself to lie to your family like that, and I don’t want to lie about my feelings either,” hanging your head down low, you bit the insides of your cheeks. No matter what you said, you couldn’t take it back anymore.

“Rintaro, I like you. You make me happy and I want to do the same for you, but I understand if we’re done now. It was nice to have met you.”

Without waiting for his response, you ran back into the building when a hand wrapped around your wrist. You stared at the long fingers and to the arm connected to it, heart sinking into your chest when you came face to face with Rintaro’s handsome face.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to speak.”

“I’m sure you don’t want to be near me, Rintaro.”

Rintaro sniffed, averting the intensity of your gaze and shrugging his shoulders shly. “On the contrary... I’d like to spend every waking minute with you,” he mumbled so soft that you wouldn’t have heard it if you didn’t listen hard enough, but you did, and you were left gaping at him with warmth spreading through your skin. You stood there, watching as Rintaro laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry if I said that a little too late, but yes. I’d like to be your real boyfriend. Then I can fuck you exclusively because I don’t think I like the idea of you riding other people like that.”

You swatted his arm away with a laugh. “That’s the reason you want to date me?”

“There’s other reasons too like how I love talking to you and I want to get to know you more,” he cupped your face, grinning when his palms felt the warmth emanating from your skin. “And also, I want to do this more with you.”

Leaning down, Rintaro kissed you under the flickering lights of your hallway, the both of your lips stretching into a smile. In a way, you were thankful your friends tried setting you up with someone else, because if you’d known it would lead you to realizing your feelings for Rintaro, you would’ve asked him to date you a little earlier.

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[moonstruckme]

pls hear me out 🙏🙏 vampire!james is recently turned and doesn’t feed cause he’s such a sweetheart he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

reader notices how weak he is and finds out he hasn’t been feeding and basically offers herself to him and it’s just really comforting and cute

Babe I hear you !!! I hear you soooooo clear (the voices omg, I was so excited to write this). Thank you for requesting!

cw: blood mention

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

James never had a problem with eating animals before he became a vampire. You pointed this out to him, once, but he only said it’s different. You suppose it is. The chicken nuggets he used to devour came to him cooked, fried, and with sauces, utterly unrecognizable from what they’d once been. There’s no separating the live-ness from what James has to eat now. 

You spy on him over the top of your book. He’s sitting on the other end of the loveseat with your feet in his lap, massaging your arches through your thick socks while he watches a football match on the telly. His dusky skin had paled after he was turned a few weeks back, but he looks even paler than that now. If he were still human you’d think he was anemic. It’s four in the afternoon, and your ball-of-energy boyfriend looks as tired as if he’s ready for bed. 

“Jamie,” you say, and he squeezes your heel to indicate he’s listening, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can, lovely, yeah.” 

“Have you been feeding?” 

James stiffens at the term. “Mm, why do you ask?” 

It’s as close as he thinks he can get to a non-answer, and it’s an answer for you anyways. James can never stand to lie to you. It’s terribly endearing. 

You turn your foot to poke his abdomen. “I can hear your stomach growling.” 

His lips curve. He glances at you. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.” 

“Really? How does it work?” 

“I don’t actually have a clue.” James smiles, which was your aim. He’s been far too downcast for your liking, his new condition entirely to blame. 

“Well, you’re looking pale.” 

“I’ve been pale.” 

“Paler than pale.” You set your book on the side table, moving closer to him. You sit with your feet folded under you. “Also, you haven’t been going out to feed like you used to.” 

James finally looks a bit sheepish. You smile and cup his face in your hand. Though he knows you know, James has still been a tad secretive about the vampire business around you. He sneaks out after he thinks you’re asleep. You’ll hear the front door open and shut when he leaves and then again when he comes back, the kitchen tap running as he cleans himself up. You wish he’d just use the shower. You don’t mind him walking through your bedroom with blood and dirt on him if it means he gets to feel clean when he slips back into bed with you. 

You rub your thumb over his cheek. “What’s keeping you?” 

He sighs. His face weighs a bit heavier in your palm. You think this must be progress, and you repeat your ministrations to his cheek to encourage it. 

“Everything’s hibernating,” says James, a quiet shame underlying his tone. “The…things I used to feed from are gone, and I’m not left with a lot of choices.” 

You hum. “Well, you’ve gotta eat, Jamie.” 

He hesitates, and you give him your sternest look. 

“You do. What about the deer?” 

“They’re harder to catch. And…I…I just feel bad, you know?”

You nod. Take his hand and press a kiss to his palm. Your poor sweetheart. You know James hasn’t killed anything he’s fed from, but even scaring them and potentially hurting them for the time it takes him to feed rattles him terribly. He’s too good, good and kind down to his core, but you know he’s going to have to find some way to cope other than starving himself. 

“What about people?” 

James’ eyes round behind his glasses. “Wha—no, I—”

“I wouldn’t mind you using me.” 

He seems to falter for a moment. His thick brows draw together in stages, from disbelief to confusion and back again. “Angel,” he says, “I couldn’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, it’s—it would be—” 

“Or maybe we could try someone else. Someone bad, like a corrupt politician or one of those people who siphons money away from charities.” 

“No.” 

“Then we’re back to me.” You smile at him, one part teasing and two parts genuine. “James, I want to. I don’t like seeing you like this, and I really don’t think I’d mind it.” 

James looks like he’s still having trouble processing. “You don’t think you’d mind?” 

“I don’t,” you repeat patiently. “I’m sort of curious, actually. It could be fun.” 

He looks, to your surprise, like he might actually be considering it. He’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if it’d be fun, angel.” 

“That’s okay,” you promise him. “I want to do it for you. You’re hungry, yeah?” You try to make your voice serene and persuasive, your hand coasting up and down his arm. “Let me help.” 

James looks you in your eyes. You hold his gaze. After a while, the fight seems to go out of him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. 

“Oh, baby.” You kiss him on his cheek, your heart bulging. “You won’t. It’ll be fine. How do you want me? Hair up?” 

He shakes his head. “It’s good the way it is. I think, um, it might be easier if you were in my lap.” 

“Okay.” You grin, lifting your thigh over his so you’re straddling him. His hands settle on your hips. “Are you romancing me? Is this part of it?” 

James lifts the corners of his mouth, but you can see the trepidation lingering beneath his smile. You do your best to soothe it away with your hands on his shoulders. 

“I want to be gentle with you,” he says.

“I bet you say that to all your victims.” 

“Sweetheart…”

“Sorry, sorry.” You’re nervous. You kiss his nose in apology. 

“If I hurt you—if you don’t like it for any reason, I want you to squeeze my shoulder. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod, trying to look certain. “Does it usually hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” James admits. “With animals, they don’t usually…move much after I’ve bitten them. I’m not sure if it stuns them or what.” 

“I’ll report back,” you say seriously. You glance down at the couch cushions. “Will it be messy? Should we go to the bathroom or something?” 

“No, I’m—I’ve gotten better at it. We should be fine here.” 

You smile at him, your pride genuine. “Sounds good.” 

James is starting to look worried again, so you kiss him. On the lips, as sweet as you can muster, and imagine all your love pouring through it. Then, you pull your hair to one side and bear your neck. 

His pupils splay out.

“Remember to squeeze my shoulder.” He sounds hoarse. One of his hands slips up your back to steady you beneath your shoulder blades. 

“I will,” you vow. 

James looks dazed, almost reverent. He wets his lips, and when he opens his mouth you see his tongue skim over pointed teeth. Some prey animal’s instinct sends a shiver of fear through you. Your blood hums with anticipation. But just before James’ teeth skim your neck, he pauses. 

“Jamie.” It’s soft, a murmur, a plea. “It’s okay. Do whatever you want with me.” 

He makes a quiet sound, like a sigh or a whine, and closes the gap. 

At first, it’s only like he’s kissing you. He’s exceedingly sweet about it, lips opening warmly over your skin, his tongue pressing over your artery as though testing the waters. He splays his palm wide over your back in silent warning before his teeth sink into you. 

There’s a sting, but you were ready for it. You keep yourself from wincing, from doing anything that would make James move away, and after a second the pain dulls. Everything does, except for the extraordinary feel of James’ mouth on you. 

“Oh.” Your mouth opens of its own accord, head lolling further to the side to give him better access. You want more, more of this, more of him. Your brain fuzzes and your heart pounds, every nerve in your body narrowing its focus to where James is sucking at your neck, lapping you up. 

You wind your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, and his palm coasts up your back comfortingly. You feel molten, spectacularly, transcendently languid, like you could press your fingertips to his shoulders and they’d melt right in. You don’t, not wanting him to misinterpret it as your signal and stop, but after a while James’ arms are the only thing keeping you from tipping sideways onto the couch, and he stops anyway. 

He finishes with a few chaste kisses, and you think giddily that you weren’t too far off about the romancing. 

“Y’okay, lovie?” he mumbles into your skin. 

You hum in reply. 

James presses one more sweet kiss to your neck, almost a thank-you. He seals the wound with his tongue. A giggle bubbles out of you, one shoulder coming up to ward him off. 

“Sorry,” you say to James’ surprised look. Your head is starting to clear. “That part tickled.” 

His grin splits his face, one part tentative and two parts relieved. “Yeah? Are you really okay?” 

“Super okay,” you promise him. You can’t help grinning. “You were right, it didn’t hurt. That was nice.”

James’ expression eases, some mix of relief and interest in his gaze. “Was it actually?” 

“Mhm. I would be your blood donor any time, really.” 

James scoffs, but he’s clearly elated. He strokes from your hip to your ribs with a big hand, trailing tender kisses up to your cheek. You’re thrilled to see how much more energy he already has. 

“I don’t know about that,” he says in between kisses. “I’d still rather not make you my victim if I can help it.” 

“I didn’t feel like a victim, if that helps.” Your words go mushy as he reaches your lips, but you keep talking, wanting to make your point. “I just mean, I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Maybe when you’re lacking in other options.” 

“Mm, maybe. What was it like?” 

“Like a really good kiss.” 

James backs up from you to give you a dubious look. “Better than the ones I give you normally?” 

You grin. “Maybe a little.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth drops open, curving on one side. “Oh, yeah? Bold claims.” 

“I don’t know if you can compete with whatever vampire magic that was, Jamie.”

“My kisses are very magical. It seems like I may have to remind you how good they really are, though.” 

You shrug coyly. “If you think you can top that, you’re welcome to try. I mean, you’re really only competing with your—”

James is on you before you can finish.

[hyunsvngs]

halloscream

was it jeongsung in the bedroom?

warnings 🔪: poly relationship dynamics, they’re serial killers, knifeplay, clitplay, unprotected sex, oral (m rec), bloodplay (be warned about this one, it’s not their blood), one whole line of daddy kink, mxm as well as fxm

it’s getting late. they’re late, to be more precise, but you feel as if you look at the window again it will feel like even longer. you tap away at your keyboard. it’s too quiet - the house is empty with your parents out at dinner. normally your two boyfriends would be making enough noise to drown out the everlasting silence, but again, they’re nowhere to be seen. your foot taps against the carpet impatiently underneath your desk.

a noise from your back garden catches your attention. nothing too loud, just a rustle of leaves and a few small thuds, but it has you rising from your computer chair to check it out. jisung would chastise you. “don’t you know horror movies?” he’d say, eyes round and wide, “investigating a strange noise is how you die, jagi.” still, you’re pissed that they’re late, and you also know full well that your boyfriends are the only threat to your small, isolated town. 

it started last year. jeongin came bursting through your window, clad in a halloween costume drenched in blood, and you laughed in his face thinking it was fake. it wasn’t fake. jisung followed closely behind him, a knife in his hand still messy with the efforts of their mission, and you almost had a heart attack. jeongin had to sit you down and explain, but really, there’s not a lot of explaining you can do when your girlfriend finds out you’ve been killing students from the local high school. 

they’re psychopathic, to put it lightly, but surely you are too - one toothy smile from jeongin and a comforting rub of jisung’s hand on your back was all it took. you’d accepted it all. 

now, you stand at your window, sticking your head out of the open pane of glass. the autumn air is crisp and it bites at your flushed, alarmed cheeks. when you can’t see anything through the darkness, you sigh, pulling your body back into your room. it’s not them. you turn to make your way back to the computer. maybe they’ll call before they come, just to let you know not to be scared and-

“ugh,” jeongin’s voice groans from behind you. your head whips around, shocked to see that he actually looks reasonably presentable. he’s in their signature costume, long, pitch black fabric drowning his lightly toned frame, and he carries the matching mask in his hand. “i thought you’d at least help me inside, baby. are your parents even home? i could’ve just used the front door.”

there’s other things on your mind. you’re pissed he’s late, and your arms fold over your chest. “where’s the other one?” your voice is dismissive, as if you don’t care about where jeongin’s partner-in-crime normally is. of course you care. one of your boys never comes without the other - quite literally - and you try to peek behind jeongin to see the missing boy. he crowds in through your window to block your vision, toned arms and long legs climbing through his chosen entry point. 

“he’s on his way,” jeongin says. the mask drops from his hand to the floor in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in, the fabric of his halloween costume scratching against your bare collarbones. you’re in one of jisung’s old oversized shirts, and the neckline is stretched beyond belief. your hands soften the impact by bracing themselves on his shoulders. “he got caught up with something. you understand, right?”

he feels like he’s everywhere in your room at once, an aura that only jeongin could have wrapped around you. it’s all it takes to calm you down, to forget about the fact that they didn’t even call, and then you’re focusing on the feeling of something solid pressing into your thigh. 

your hand moves down. his eyes follow the movement, narrowed, head tilting to the side as if he’s daring you to touch. you do, because you always rise to jeongin’s challenges. your fingers wrap around the object with a mischievous giggle. “is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?”

“that’s a knife,” he responds, quick as a bat. his hand wraps around your wrist and moves you a few inches to the right, positioning your hand over his actual cock and oh. it’s throbbing, and you can feel the way the shaft hardens further in your hand, even through the layers of fabric. you blink up at him, all coy through your lashes, and he raises an eyebrow. “i’m hard because i just killed someone, and that’s turning you on. do you know how fucked up that is?”

“it’s even more fucked up to be hard after killing someone,” you say, hands moving to his hips. you begin a backwards walk to your bed, pulling him along with you. jeongin’s more than happy to follow. his body slides between your legs easily, erection pressing into the middle of your sleep shorts, right above your core, and you try to catch his lips with yours. he moves away from your face with that signature cheeky grin, one that only jeongin could pull off. “why? first you’re late, and now no kiss? don’t wind me up, jeonginnie.”

“i’m gonna lick your pussy, that’s why,” his voice is low, tone steady. it makes a shiver run down your spine, but you’re nodding, letting your thighs fall apart. jeongin’s grin widens at the effect he has on you. he’s still in that stupid costume, but you watch his body slide down your bed until his face is nuzzling into your core.

you can’t help it. you’re curious, and they may say curiosity kills the cat, but well - the only thing killing anyone is rutting his nose into the covered pudge of your clit. “who did you kill?”

“what?” he scoffs, pulling your sleep shorts to the side with two long, gloved fingers. the texture of his gloves is cold against your heated mound, and you stutter out a breath, hands moving to the sheets beside you. “does it matter, jagi?”

“y-yeah, it does,” you whine when he dips down, tongue licking over your clit for the first time tonight. he’s talented with his mouth, but he’s normally better with his fingers. jisung’s forte is oral, and you let your mind wander again. where is he? you’re missing the essential third piece in your beloved psychopathic throuple.

when he speaks again, the vibrations hit your pussy. “he was a lowlife. don’t worry about it. he deserved to die.”

“you say that about e-everyone- oh my god,” he sucks your clit into his mouth as you’re speaking. it makes you surge from the bed, back arching, hand weaving into his hair to pull and tug to where you need him to be. jeongin’s malleable like that, letting you grind your pussy up into his mouth while he presses his tongue flat against the sensitive bud. “fuck. fuck, jeonginnie, innie, please, baby-“

“jesus, man. that was a ballache. y’know, would’ve been easier if maybe there were two of us like there’s meant to be, or-” your head snaps to your window. jeongin’s mouth stops moving, but he kisses your clit as an apology. 

sure, you would normally jump at the sight of someone standing in your bedroom dressed in a full halloween costume, ghostface mask and all. however, you’ve already received one of your male visitors tonight and you know that voice all too well - especially when it’s paired with a short stature and fumbling hands gripping at his mask. you see jisung’s appalled expression once the mask is gone, dropped to the floor to join jeongin’s, round eyes staring at his boyfriend’s position between your legs. “you seriously started without me?! c’mon man, don’t piss me off!”

jeongin only shrugs and nuzzles his nose against your mound to get your attention. you turn back to the boy, running your fingers through his hair comfortingly. he resumes the fat licks he’s giving your core, broad and messy and too fucking good. “iyennie’s being nice and eating my- ah- pussy, baby,” jisung’s staring at you, bouncing from one foot to the other. “you could’ve too, if you weren’t late.”

“wha-“ jisung splutters. he’s already toeing his boots off, yanking the costume over his head to reveal the baggy jeans and black tank he’s got on underneath. the sight of his honey-toned arms against the dark fabric is enough to make your mouth water, but then he drops his jeans and you can see his erection pressing against the front of his boxers. jeongin ignores him, sucking your pussy hard with a soothing hum. your labia stretches with it, and then he flicks his tongue over your clit so fast that your legs kick out. jisung catches them. “not my fault. jeonginnie made me do all the cleanup and the fucking theatrics and shit. this guy bled like a pig too, baby, so-“

“hyung,” jeongin chastises, eyes flitting over to him. when he pulls his head back, his chin is covered in drool and your arousal. you want to lick it clean. you’re barely even paying attention to what your boys are bickering about. “don’t get into the gory details.”

jisung stops in his tracks, trousers wrapped around his ankles. he looks at you. you shiver. he looks at jeongin, and jeongin raises an eyebrow, challenging again. “don’t you know?” jisung’s grin is wide, mischievous. “she likes hearing the gory details. go on, tell her.”

jeongin’s lips part in surprise. he looks at you, scrutinising. “is that so? you wanna hear how i gutted that guy and jisungie hung him from a tree?”

you can’t help it. with his words, jeongin slides two fingers inside of you, curling them so harshly it makes your eyes water. you let out a keen, trying to reach out to pull jisung onto the bed, but he’s too far. he seems to get it, knee-walking onto the mattress until he’s positioned next to you. his hand doesn’t stay out of his boxers for long, sliding beneath the tight fabric. you watch him grip his shaft and pump slowly at the sight in front of him. 

“do you wanna know who it was?” jeongin continues. his thumb slides to rub over your clit, and your thighs tremble. you’re moaning, nodding, babbling pleadings and little ‘yes’s that fall from your mouth urgently. jeongin chuckles. “your little friend from your math class. see, i wasn’t too mad about it, but jisung said he was trying to fuck you.”

“god, fuckin- he pissed me off, baby, ‘m sorry,” jisung whines, and your head is spinning. you’re reeling. jeongin thrusts his fingers a little harder, a little faster, and you’re struggling to concentrate. jisung’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip once, twice, eyes flitting between you and jeongin as if he’s not quite sure who to look at. “he was t-too nice to you, he- he wanted you. you’re ours.”

you’ve barely spoken to the guy from your math class - in all honesty, you’re not quite sure of his name, but now that you think about it… yeah. he was a little touchy, a little flirty, maybe too kind and considerate in letting you copy his work. it all adds up, but he’s taken care of now. you don’t have to worry about it. you never have to worry about anything with your boys around.

jisung pushes his boxers down, and his shaft slaps up against the base of his tummy, not too long but girthy enough to make your mouth water. he catches your gaze and uses his grip to slap it against his skin a little more, precum forming a thin trail attaching the cockhead to his tank top. “fuck. s-suck it, baby, won’t you?” 

“cum first,” jeongin insists. jisung grumbles in protest, but jeongin’s thumb presses harder on your clit, and he reels backwards to spit down against your pussy. the slap of his hand against your core is debauched, messy, and your eyes flutter shut. it’s too good. you’re gonna cum. “cum for me. fucking give it to me. my little fucked up baby, huh? that turned you on, didn’t it?”

“y-yeah! yes, yes, of course, y-you two are- fuck, too much, too much, i’m gonna cum,” you’re babbling again, and when your hand shoots out to grip onto something jisung catches it with his own spare hand. he links your fingers together, and jeongin dips down, finally, finally pressing his lips against yours. it’s all just enough and you feel like you’re dying, shots of electricity running through you, core gushing your release over jeongin’s wrist while he slides his tongue into your mouth. 

you’re given barely any time to come down. jeongin’s hand reels back and slaps your pussy. “hands and knees f’me. head between hyung’s legs.”

you scramble against your bedsheets, limbs kicking out and positioning your body face down in the sheets below jisung’s cock. jeongin moves behind you, yanking your sleep shorts down with a wet, still gloved hand. 

“you liked hearing what we d-did, baby, yeah?” jisung questions, and you whine, nodding. you did. secretly, in a dark place you try not to go into, you want their knives pressed against you and making you bleed while they fuck you. the thought makes your pussy clench down around nothing. 

jisung’s fingers move to your hair, yanking you forward until you’re nosing at his cock. you slide your tongue over his shaft just briefly, nuzzling your nose into the hair at his base, but it’s not long before he’s slapping his cock against your cheek impatiently. “shiiiit, jeonginnie, get inside already. i need her mouth so fucking bad, i’m so fucking hard.”

“just take it,” jeongin fumbles with his belt behind you. you hear the tell-tale clanging of metal, and then the rustling of fabric. his cockhead presses against your hole unceremoniously, blunt and thick, and you try to rut backwards onto it. jisung’s grip prohibits you, and he drags you upwards above his cock to finally press his tip between your lips. 

they both slide in together. jeongin’s thick shaft stretches you beyond belief, making you moan hard around jisung’s cock. you’re glad your parents aren’t home. jisung squirms from the vibrations, and before jeongin can start moving, he’s bouncing your head on his shaft. 

you can see his eyes roll back into his head, lips parting with a sharp whine. you feel like a ragdoll. it has you getting even wetter. “t-that’s it. fuckin’ beautiful mouth, my baby, so dirty, lemme- jus’ lemme fuckin’ take it, god, please.”

jeongin thrusts into you once, twice, testing movements that have your pussy all creamy and easy around him. he sighs, positions his large palms on your ass, and then he starts thrusting at a breakneck speed that has you bouncing between their cocks. you feel used. your clit aches for touch, hard and sensitive above where your hole is getting decimated. 

jisung pulls your head up to give you air, his hand polishing his cockhead. you’re immediately babbling. “fuck, you- jeongin, j-jeonginnie, the knife. will you- will you use it? o-on me? please?”

jisung moans. his hand moves between his legs, pumping his cock quickly in front of your face. it leaks against your lips. jeongin’s hips halt, pressing deep inside you. “the knife? baby, i don’t know.”

“get it, iyennie,” jisung nudges jeongin with his toes. you don’t miss the way jeongin’s cock twitches inside of you. “get mine. it still has blood on it.”

“oh my god,” you moan, wiggling backwards onto jeongin. you can tell his face must be a picture right now because jisung laughs, loud albeit shaky, and he reaches down onto the floor into the pocket of jisung’s jeans to reveal the offending object. he throws it to jisung, who brands it to you, showing that yeah, really, it’s still got someone else’s blood on it. it should be disgusting, moreso terrifying, but when the blade presses against your neck you wriggle just enough to get jisung’s cock back into your mouth. 

“see? f-fucking look at her,” jisung says, voice pitched higher. the angle is awkward, but he manages to fuck his cock into your mouth in tiny, shallow thrusts while the blunt edge of the blade is against your skin. he wouldn’t turn it the other way, not seriously when he knows he might lose control and hurt you. the idea has you keening. “she fucking loves it.”

“yeah? is that true?” jeongin sounds gravelly, throat hoarse, and he starts to fuck into you again. the slide is smooth with how wet you’ve gotten, and your pussy clings to him on every outwards thrust, dragging him back inside of you. jisung pushes harder and the knife presses harder. “hannie. hyung, be- be careful.”

“don’t need to be,” jisung responds, quick, and yanks your head upwards so you’re just suckling on his cockhead. you’ve been drooling all over it, and the feeling of your wet mouth around the most sensitive part of him makes his thighs tremble. he’s close. he never lasts long in your mouth, and you reach one hand up from your position, running a thumb over the creased skin of his ballsack. his foot shoots out so sharply it kicks jeongin in the thigh. “fuck! sorry, sorry aegi, i’m- i’m close, i-“

“already?” jeongin chuckles, but his thrusts are beginning to stagger too. he’s just as close as his boyfriend is, and the blood smearing on your throat has you clenching so hard you think you might be, too. jeongin’s pace quickens, and despite it being messy and uncalculated you let your head fall to jisung’s hip with a moan. he’s fine to strip his cock in your face, body curled over you to hold the knife to your neck, and you nuzzle downwards to suck his balls into your mouth.

“yes! yesyesyes, baby, oh, yeah! just like that, my baby, gonna- i’ll cum, fuck, on your face, you want it?”

“fuck. fuck, daddy, please,” you keen, and you watch in real time how it affects your boyfriend. jisung’s eyebrows scrunch together, pouty lips forming the perfect o as his cock spurts ropes of cum onto your head. it’s imprecise, landing mostly on your forehead and in your hair, and you squeal when jeongin yanks you back by the same messy strands. 

“daddy? fuckin’ really?” he pulls you into him, almost fully sat in his lap, and uses a hand he slides up your shirt to bounce you on top of him. you’re out of it. the blood has smeared all over your neck and stained the neck of your shirt, but you don’t care, whinging and gripping onto jeongin’s lithe thighs. his balls slap against your clit like this, and you can see jisung’s cock perking in interest already.

“this is fuckin’ hot! aegi, make her cum. wan’ see it.”

“you already saw it, i need to- i gotta cum now,” jeongin gasps, teeth biting into your shoulder. it’s too much. 

“no, jeonginnie, please! make me- please make me cum!”

he gives in. jisung will tease him about this later. his fingers move to your clit despite his words, and with only a few precisely formed circles onto the bud you’re creaming on his cock with another pathetic squeal. the sensitivity rises quickly, and it has tears biting at your eyes, but jeongin continues to fuck into you like you’re nothing more than a warm hole. maybe that’s all you are. the thought has your pussy clenching down again, and he thrusts deep before he fills you up with a shout, thick and warm inside of you.

jisung stretches his limbs with a sigh, thumb and index finger rubbing over his cockhead. it’s all too wet, and jeongin slides his softening cock out of your hole with a groan. the knife clatters unceremoniously to the floor. before you can whine and make a fuss over the cum still on your face, jeongin grabs hold of your hair and presses his tongue against your skin.

“when do i get a kiss?” jisung protests, cock still soft against his tank top. “no kisses for hannie even after all that hard work. this is unjust. unfair. it’s wrong, i would say.”

you watch jeongin surge across the bed and feed jisung his own cum from his lips. it’s dirty, and jisung’s shaft twitches valiantly against his tummy when he kisses back, tongues intertwining amidst the high pitched noise he makes. you let them kiss for a bit, and then you wriggle yourself up to your boys. the elder welcomes you with open arms, and jeongin pulls away from his lips with a wet sound, collapsing onto jisung’s shoulder.

“welcome home,” you chirp, and jeongin chuckles sleepily. jisung only pulls you into his chest further, fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin of your arm. “will i be expecting any more late nights this week?”

“tomorrow,” jeongin yawns. his head rests on jisung’s shoulder. you’re pretty sure he’s drooling already. jisung’s eyes flutter shut, at peace. “it’s the build up to halloween, baby. we’re busy these days, but we’ll always make time for you.”

[kamiversee]

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

10 | I know that's

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | language, tension, flirting, mention of drugs & alcohol consumption, sexual tension, teasing, taunting, etc.

❧ Word Count | 7.2k (phew.)

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——Back in your room, you wasted no time calling Gojo back. That whole… thing with Choso is something you’ll save your worrying for another day. As of right now, Gojo should be your main focus since you have a Halloween party to attend with him tonight.

Laying stomach first across your surprisingly neatly made bed, your feet dance back and forth in the air as you hold your cellphone to your ear and listen to Gojo ramble to you about his day. He didn’t address the phone hanging up at all or the way he definitely heard Choso’s voice before the line disconnected earlier—he just got on the phone, asked if you were alright, and then when back to what he’d been telling you before.

Which brings a nice smile to your face. It’s refreshing to have someone like Gojo to talk to, honestly. Not only do you really enjoy conversing with him or listening to him talk but, you also like how he didn’t question you like crazy. That simple act alone took some weight off of your shoulders because it meant you didn’t have to lie again. God knows you hate lying to the guy. 

But you’re not gonna tell him the truth either because the truth is terrible. How do you even being to explain to your crush that you almost fucked your best friend again in the short amount of time you were off of the phone with him?

“So,” Gojo continues, clearing his throat a bit between words. “Aside from tonight’s party, you don’t have any plans for today, right?”

Your head tilts further against the phone as you release a gentle sigh, “To my knowledge, no I don’t have any other plans. Why?”

He yawns softly, “Because, that gives us enough time to go last-minute costume shopping, remember?”

Chuckling into the phone, your lips curve into a smile. “Don’t you have work?” You ask.

You can’t see it of course but, Gojo rolls his eyes at that, “I mean, yeah… But I’m sure my boss won’t mind if I close up a bit early. It’s Halloween.”

“If you say so,” You comment. “I’m assuming you want me to meet you at the cafe in a few hours then?”

“Yup,” Gojo hums with a sassy lil pop of the ‘p’ at the end there. “Til’ then, I’ll have to drown myself in work. My break’s about to be over.”

You click your tongue and frown a bit, “Aw, well hopefully time flies by fast.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Once off of the phone with Gojo, you spend your day holing yourself up in your bedroom in an honest attempt of avoiding Choso. Luckily for you, at no point did he come knocking on your door trying to gain a bit of your attention. This provided you with a rather relaxing morning and afternoon of bedrotting.

Not the most productive thing to do but, hey, at least time flew by pretty fast. After lazying around for hours waiting for the right time, you ended up rolling out of bed and throwing on something cozy to go out in—you’d be changing into a costume in an hour so there was no point in dressing up too cute or anything. 

You end up exiting you apartment wearing something easy to get in and out of so that when you do find your costume, and in the event that it later gets uncomfortable, you have something else to throw back on. 

Taking a walk all the way throughout your campus just to reach that cute lil’ cafe you’ve grown to love and adore, you felt the season of fall brushing all against your skin as you walked. It’s as if that hectic morning of yours never even took place with how peaceful this part of your day was. For just a moment, it was only you and your thoughts. No horny Choso humping against you like a dog in heat, no anxiety induced thoughts screaming at you everytime Gojo talks to you… just, tranquility.

And when you finally arrive at the designated coffeehouse you’ve been to time and time again, a smile is painted across your face before you even push past the front doors. The sun is making it’s set so the sky is all pretty with different hues of oranges and reds—something you took a few pictures of on your way here.

Grabbing a hold of the warm metal door handles, you give it a light push and that homey smell of coffee rushes into your nose. A smell in which you’ve grown quite fond of given what follows shortly after…

No one is inside except for Gojo so the smile on your face merely brightens as you meet eyes with him. Almost like a damn puppy, his entire demeanor lightens up at your presence, pretty dimples peaking out in his cheeks as he reciprocates your happy expression.

You’re approaching the counter and he’s making his way around it, all too quick to embrace you by wrapping his muscular arms around your waist and pulling you in close. Gojo lets out a long sigh, “Been’ waiting all day to do this, y’know.” He tells you, voice muffled slightly with the way his face slowly barries itself into the crook of your neck.

You hug him back with the same amount of passion he’d approached you with and then smile. “Do what? Hug me?” Your voice is gentle against his ears and unbeknownst to you, his heart feels all weird in his chest. Then there’s these flutters your feel in your stomach at how good he smells and how stupidly clingy he seems to be today.

It’s this strange mix of coffee beans and his cologne that seeps into your nose now, making you hug him just a bit tighter to simmer into the scent some more. He smells like a hard working man and you simply love that for whatever reason. You suppose that thing people say about a man in uniform is true after all…

“Yeah,” Gojo soon answers your question whilst lifting his face from your neck and meeting your eyes again. His gaze stays put for barely even a second before he’s cracking a smirk and leaning in to kiss you. 

A brief grin ghosts your lips as he kisses you. Your arms firmly wrap around his neck and you push up on your toes a bit to deepen the connection of your mouths. Gojo’s lips feel like comfort against your own, almost as if you were ice and he the sun—his every touch melting you in his hands. You let out a small hum in between the kiss as he slots his lips against yours further, steadily drawing your bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it.

His tongue dances against the plump skin for only a moment before he pries himself away and you both ease out a small breath of air. “And that,” Gojo says, “I swear you’re on my mind all day.”

Such a soft admission spoken to you so suddenly makes you gulp. “Am I now?” You whisper, noticing how he’s leaning back in for another kiss already.

Gojo wets his lips and smiles. “Yeah,” He utters back just as softly, skin brushing over yours, and eyes narrowing, “Jus’ can’t get enough of you.” Is the last thing he tells you before he’s ridding himself of all the space between you two again.

No one else is in the establishment, so you kiss for a hot minute. It’s soft at first, like always, but then it gradually heats up. His hands move to your waist and his head tilts further while his tongue makes its journey into the wet caverns of your mouth. Groaning at the sweet taste resting there, Gojo unconsciously steps forward with you. You naturally follow his lead and he ends up kissing you until your lower back meets the counter.

Not sparing you the chance to break the kiss, Gojo bends down a little and swiftly lifts you up onto the counter—his lips never once leaving yours. He feels starved as he makes out with you right in the middle of where he works. Hushing out a simple, “Taste s’sweet,” In between your lips.

You mutter his name somewhere throughout the kissing and one of your hands ends up on his chest, very faintly pushing him. As the kiss is severed, Gojo has this needy expression all over his face and his cheeks are reddened. He’s so pretty that it genuinely hurts to look at. It almost isn’t fair.

“Don’t we have some shopping to do?” You remind the man in a slightly breathless tone. 

Gojo bats his lashes at you almost innocently. “Yeahh, but we have time, don’t we?” As the words roll off of his tongue, his lips are curving into that taunting little smile again, and then his dimples are making yet another appearance.

His hands, which are so stupidly soft, trace the outskirts of your thighs upon the counter. Those almost beryl-blue eyes of his scan over your face, taking in every inch and curve, studying you, and getting mesmerized by you. If you looked way too closely into it all, you’d almost asume the guy was in lo—

You clear your own throat to cut that thought off. “No, it’s Halloween, silly.” You remind him with a smile, glancing down to your hands on his chest and moving your fingertips to trace what you can feel beneath his clothes. “There’s barely gonna be costumes as is, the later we go, the less there’ll be.”

Gojo sighs while he thinks for a moment. His bottom lip protrudes as he pouts and you can’t help the way you chuckle at that. “S’not funny. I really did miss you,” He tells you again, tipping his head down into your neck and pressing his lips against your skin, “But you’re right, we probably should head out now.” He’s agreeing with you with his words but the way he’s planting these soft pecks against your neck is saying something else entirely.

His kisses tickle and you end up holding onto his shirt a bit and letting out a giggle, “Satoru,” You call out once, receiving no sign of him stopping his ticklish kisses. Then you squirm and he smiles against you. “‘Toru,” You say, to which his teeth graze you.

“Such a tease,” Gojo simmered into your skin hotly. “Callin’ me that nickname like you don’t know what it does t’me…”

Full on smiling now, you angle your head to look at him and he pulls away from your neck to meet that incoming gaze. His pupils seem to expand ever so slightly as they’re met with yours but, you may have imagined that. “It does something to you?” You ask innocently as you push forward to slide off of the counter, “I had no idea…!”

That cheery faux innocence in your tone makes Gojo’s smile expand before his eyes roll. He watches the way you step aside and straighten up your clothes before sending him one last glance. Something about you really keeps his mind at this mushy state because every time his eyes lock with yours it’s like he can’t form a single thought in his brain that doesn’t involve you.

Staring, letting a small moment of the eye contact pass by, Gojo scoffs softly. “Riight, sure you didn’t.” He replies to your last comment sarcastically.

After that brief conversation, which could’ve easily progressed into something more if you didn’t stop him, you assist Gojo in cleaning up the cafe so he can leave with you. All you had to do was wipe a few tables off and then you watched him sweep and mop. It seemed like not many people had come in today given the state of the kitchen and how clean it was (you’d picked up on how messy it gets when Gojo is swamped with customers a while back).

Small talk is held almost the entire time up until he finally closes up and walks you to his car. It’s then that silence is welcomed back into your space and even as you walk with him, you still feel this comforting air wrapping around you. Especially when Gojo throws an arm over your shoulder and soon opens his car door for you. He’s so strangely perfect that you can’t help the way you feel for him.

Even throughout the car ride to… the nearest costume shop? He plays a bunch of Halloween songs and throughout Micheal Jackson’s ‘Thriller’, you notice that even Gojo’s singing is perfect. Hence why by the time you two make it to your destination your cheeks hurt from how hard you’d been smiling and you can hardly remember the last time a guy, aside from Choso, has made you laugh this much.

The shop he takes you to is rather… pricey, you note as the two of you stroll through together. And yeah, most of the shelves are cleared off and whatever’s left isn’t anything super creative. Gojo guides you to the back of the store though and you swear he had this all planned out in his head with the way he leads you straight to a particularly cute couples costume. 

“Y’know,” You start off, picking up the clearly designated costume that stands out in contrast to the other last-minute options left on the surrounding shelves. “If you wanted us to wear matching costumes, you could’ve jus’ said something.” 

When you glance back to Gojo, you notice the way he’s got a hand scratching the back of his neck and is looking off to the side nonchalauntly. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, sweets…” He hums, that faint pigment of pink coating his cheeks yet again.

You snort, “Really? So how is it that you’ve led me all the way back here and straight to the only decent costumes left in this store?” As you speak, you lift the two costume packages up and hold them out to showcase them to him. “Not to mention, they just so happen to be the only matching ones too.” 

Gojo redirects his eyes to the items in your hand and he grins innocently. “This is a coincidence, really.” He chuckles, “I mean why would I—“ He stops himself mid-sentence at the look you’re giving him and just ends up sighing in defeat. “Okay, okay, fine,” His hands went up, “Ya’ caught me.”

You smile, “Mhm, I know. Now, are you gonna go ahead ‘n ask me to match with you orr…?”

His shoulders sink a bit, “Do I have tooo? You’re already holding the costumes, are you really gonna make me ask—“

“Yep,” You hum in response with a mocking pop of the ‘p’.

Gojo scoffs playfully. “Fine.” He starts, stepping closer to you, “Do you wanna be the cowgirl to my cowboy and y’know, ride throughout this Halloween night with me?”

There’s half a beat of silence that passes after the cheesiness that just left his lips before you burst out laughing. “You’re so corny, oh my God.” You snicker out in an airy tone.

He joins your giggling with his own and then tips his head to the side, “So is that a yes orrrr…?”

Rolling your eyes, you nod. “Yeah, I’ll be the cowgirl to your cowboy tonight, Satoru.” Then you hand him his designated costume and brush past him.

Gojo clenches his fist and brings it down to himself in celebration, whispering a little, “Yess.” To himself childishly while you make your way to the nearby dressing room.

There were other last minute costumes that’d caught your eye on your way to the back of the store but, you think you’re pretty content with the cowgirl costume you end up putting on. Sure, you passed the classics like witches, cheerleaders, vampires, ghosts, etc… but this costume fits you so well that it’s almost as if it were made for you.

It fits your body almost like a leather glove but without being too uncomfortable or tight. It’s a top and bottom set—mostly consisting of black and an accenting hint of red here and there. 

Once you get it on, your body is quickly flattered by the fabric. The top is long sleeved, cropped up high, and has a knot that ties right in the lower center of your chest with a vest that has these sparkly red stars on it. Then there’s the sorry excuse for shorts accompanying the top, that’s decorated with this semi-chunky belt with matching sparkly red stars. Lastly were the boots and hat, both black with hints of red, that completed the look.

And once you got a glance of yourself in the nearby mirror, you were gagged by how good you look. You spun around to get a full view of yourself, noticing the hug that the shorts have on your ass, shaping you perfectly. Hell, you almost never wanna take this damn thing off. And contrastingly enough, part of you is a bit self-conscious to actually go out like this.

It’s not until you take a deep breath and step out of the dressing room that your confidence returns to you with the wolf-whistle you recieve from Gojo. Your eyes had been somewhere on the floor until you heard the sound he let out, lifting your gaze to find him slouching back against some chair he managed to find and pull up. He’s got his legs all spread like some slut (not that you’d ever say this aloud, of course) and you don’t think there’s a single thought of innocence in your head as you take in the sight of him.

His costume is matching yours but, there’s a lot less skin showing, obviously. The shirt he has on is rolled up to his elbows and he’s got a teasing amount of his chest revealed—matching you with that low v-cut top you have, except his shirt is just a bunch of buttons undone.

His lower half is your typical pair of cowboy pants, all snug against his thighs, fabric straining over his muscles, and—

“Eyes up here sweets’,” Gojo says with a snap of his fingers. You flinch and revert your gaze to his face, gulping at the way he’d caught your gaze trailing elsewhere. “There she is,” He purrs, motioning with two fingers for you to walk toward him, “C’mere. Lemme get a better look at’cha.”

You almost awkwardly shuffle over to him, shyly covering your exposed midsection and trying to calm the pounding of your heart with each step you take. “Satoru, d-don’t you think this is a bit…” You hate how nervous you are right now, as if he hasn’t seen you with less clothes before.

Once you find yourself standing right in between his legs, he peers up at you with that ridiculously handsome smile of his. “A bit what?” Gojo hushes out as he reaches forward and moves your arms out the way to expose all of you to his greedy eyes. “I think you look perfect, like always.” He practically whispers, leaning forward and planting an all too affectionate kiss onto your stomach.

You flinch again and instinctively move your hand to his shoulder to push him back a bit, “Thank you but, I feel exposed.”

He acts as though you shoved him back, slumping into the chair like he was before and giving you this lovestruck expression as he meets your eyes. “S’okay,” Gojo tells you, “I’m sure there’ll be a lot more people wearing a lot less tonight so, you’ll feel more comfortable once we’re there.”

You give him a little nod in response and he moves his hands to trace your hips, feeling the tight fabric of your shorts beneath his fingertips and taking a deep breath. 

“And if not,” He moves to stand up and you’re reminded of the height difference between you two all over again. “I’ll give you my jacket or something, okay?”

Nodding again, you feel so safe beneath his gaze—almost like nothing else really matters when you’re around him. 

Once that’s all been settled, you and Gojo leave the costume shop. You forget to question him about how the hell you two were able to leave without paying for anything but, the rest of the night takes over all those questions you love asking him so much.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Before you even know it, you’re pulling up to this huge house, distant thumping sounds of music and giggles heard throughout the air as Gojo parks his car not too far off. There’s vehicles placed all down the street, people all over the front yard, some just hanging out and others taking pictures or even making out.

It’s been a while since you last attended a party but, the sight of multiple skimpy outfits brings you a sense of comfort as soon as you step out of the car. The music from the house is so loud that you can’t even make out what song is playing right now due to the bass. Even so, Gojo quickly approaches your side and rightfully places his arm over your shoulder like he did earlier, keeping you nice and close to him while the two of you make way for the entrance.

The atmosphere is overly lively. You can hear and see people laughing, talking, dancing, drinking, etc. The music vibrates off of the house walls as you and Gojo walk in, shuffling past hella people just to make it fully inside. The house-, mansion, really, is packed with semi-drunk college students and you’re quickly reminded why you don’t surround yourself with party goers almost every weekend like you used to. 

There’s definitely heads turning as you and Gojo navigate through the crowd of people but, you can’t really tell if that’s because of him or you.

You would’ve loved to say that Gojo was the most attractive man there but… it’s really hard to say that when you’re quickly stopped by some tall polished blonde man wearing a priest costume. Ignoring the way Gojo’s got an arm around your shoulder entirely, this guy grins at you kindly and he’s got the prettiest honey brown eyes taking in all of you as he leans toward you to voice a compliment.

“Beautiful costume,” The man says to you simply. From where you and Gojo had made it to, the music wasn’t overwhelming and you could actually talk to someone without yelling or leaning in too close.

Naturally, you smile in thanks and give him a little nod. “Thank you, I like yours as well. You’re a priest, right—“

“Nanami!” Gojo beams beside you, unconsciously telling you the name of the blonde man you were seconds away from making casual conversation with. “The hell are you doin’ here?” He asks in a taunting tone.

Nanami’s face flicks into something tired at the mere sound of Gojo’s voice. “I should be asking you that, Gojo. You’re supposed to be at work right now.” He says sternly.

Gojo chuckles lightly, “Oh don’t be like that, boss.” He says, taking his arm from around you and moving to tap Nanami on his arm, “It’s Halloween!”

Nanami sighs. “Yes, yes, I know. That’s why I’m not upset or anything but, you could’ve sent a text. I’d like to be aware of whether or not my cafe’s closing early.”

It suddenly clicks for you that Nanami owns that beloved cafe you visit practically everyday—something which, getting a good look at his chiseled face, just fits him. Nanami is exactly what you imagined Gojo’s boss looking like, honestly. The only thing surprising you here is the fact that he’s around the same age.

You’re about to say something to insert yourself back into the conversation but you’re interrupted by a familiar voice. “Oh my God, Satoru! You made it!!” Hori says overly cheerful.

By the time you turn your head to spot her, her arms are wrapping around Gojo’s waist and she’s hugging him tightly. Gojo hugs her back with one arm and forces a friendly smile onto his face.

“Hey Hori,” Gojo greets rather plainly. “Are you dressed as a… bunny?” He asks as he looks down at her within his grasp. You couldn’t really see her because of the way she was hugging Gojo but that didn’t bother you too much when Nanami steals your attention away with a light tap.

“I didn’t get your name,” He says to you, having leaned in a bit so that you could hear him clearly.

“Oh,” You chirp before extending a hand out and voicing your name to him. Nanami nods as he shakes your hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Nanami.” You greet officially.

He grins kindheartedly, “The pleasure is all mine, honestly.”

There’s a moment of prolonged handshaking before someone bumps into Nanami’s arm and your hands disconnect. You both look to see who it is and you’re met with this brown haired guy dressed as some kind of criminal (?). Tugging the skimask up off of his face, your eyes are greeted with a very contrasting face. He’s got these big doe-like eyes and his features scream innocence in a way.

“Woah, you’re pretty,” He chuckles, clearly tipsy off of whatever drink seems to be held in his left hand. “Y’Mind if I get your number?”

Your eyes go wide at his straightforwardness and all you do is smile at first. “Uh, I’m actually…” You slowly glance to where Gojo is, only to find that he’s been dragged elsewhere with Hori. You see his a peek of his snowy white hair amid the crowd and your shoulders slump a bit at how quickly he just left your side. Turning back to the brunette male, you nod, “Y’know what, yeah, sure.”

Nanami clears his throat and his phone is held out soon, “Me too actually,” He chimes in.

With that, you're entering your number into the two guy’s phones and then handing their devices back to them. The brunette soon informs you that his name is Ino and the three of you stand there making small talk for a bit.

It’s mildly concerning that Gojo just left you like that but you distract yourself with the two men talking to you at the moment. 

After chatting with them for a bit, they eventually part ways with you and you navigate your way through the sea of party people alone. There’s not a single familiar face throughout the crowd and it’s not until you notice you’re getting stares from people that you start feeling self conscious again. 

You thought that maybe if you made your way to the dance floor and vibed by yourself for a bit, you’d be fine. But, you don’t even make it that far because somewhere throughout your shuffling through people, someone grabs a light hold of your arm and pulls you out of the crowd.

You stumble into step to see who the hell decided to grab you like that. It wasn’t aggressive or anything but it was concerning since you’ve only seen unrecognizable people thus far.

“Finally a familiar face,” The sound of Utahime’s voice hits your ears and she’s turning to face you after pulling you far away enough to talk to you. “Y’know how long I was in that damn crowd looking for literally anyone I knew? I’m so glad I found you.” She says with a sigh.

Your chest feels light as you drink in her wearing a cheerleader costume. “I’m glad you found me too, I was walking around here for maybe ten minutes or so.” You explain.

She rolls her eyes, “I thought you came here with Gojo? Did that asshole ditch you?”

You’re quick to shake your head. “Nono, he didn’t ditch me! I think Hori pulled him off earlier and I was talking with these other guys so we just got separated. Any longer in that crowd and I would’ve called him.”

Utahime pauses for a second while she gathers your words. Then, her expression changes and she smiles at you. “Oh, okay. I was just making sure because Gojo can be a real dickhead sometimes.”

“Think so?” You end up asking. This was the first time you’d heard anything remotely negative about him so, of course your curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah.” She replies, clearly having no intention of going further into an explanation at the moment. Then, with a sigh, she allows her eyes to drop down along your figure. Utahime lets out a small up and her head tilts, “Anyway, you look good—love the costume.” She compliments, her tone light and almost flirtatious.

Though, you could totally be misinterpreting things. “Oh, thank you! I love yours too, it fits you nicely.” Your returned compliment makes her smile and she allows her arms to fold beneath her chest.

“Aww, thanks. I think I—“

“Utahime!!” And there she is again… Hori. Cutting off yet another conversation and spawning into the scene out of seemingly nowhere, dressed as Regina George’s sorry excuse of a bunny from Mean Girls 1 (which is fitting since she’s blonde as well), Hori’s all smiley and her cheeks are lightly flushed. “I was looking for you everywhere. Where’d you run off to?!” She huffs as her arms wrap around Utahime’s singular arm and her head comes to rest on her shoulder.

Utahime says something to respond but all words and sound practically dies out in your ears as a pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind and a fluffy head of hair rests on your left shoulder. Flinching at the sudden contact, you don’t even get the chance to say anything before lips are grazing your ear and a familiar spread of warmth is brushing at your skin.

“Was lookin’ for ya’ everywhere, sweets.” Gojo hushes out into your ear. “God, you smell so good,” His voice lowers and the arms around your waist begin to shift along with his head. The tip of his nose is soon felt burying itself into the crook of your neck and he inhales sharply while his slender fingers smooth over the exposed skin of your waist.

Your body tenses up due to all the sudden touches but, a smile is sparking across your lips before you even realize it. “Thank you, Satoru. And, I was looking for you too… for like, ten minutes actually.” You inform him, earning a gruff little hum in response. “You invited me here ‘n then left me in less than five minutes…”

Gojo grimaces once the mentioning of his departure hits his ears. He sighs into your skin before pressing a small kiss at it, “M’sorry. First Hori pulled me away to find Suguru, and then some other people came pulling me along… I should’ve come back for ya’, my bad.”

You lean back against his touch a bit and your back becomes flush with his chest, “It’s okay, I’m glad you found me.”

“Yeahhh,” He sighs. For a second, you begin to wonder if he’s drunk with how sly his words seem to fall off of his tongue. “To make up for it though.. We could go—“

“Lemme guess, dance?” You cut off, recalling the last party you went to with him and how the same exact thing happened then. He really was a people magnet all around, huh?

Chuckling, Gojo gives your body a small tug and your ass is brought back toward his crotch. “You know it,” He says cheekily as he lifts his head from your neck and then drops his hands to your hips. It’s swift the way he spins you around to face him, your hands soon finding place on his chest and your eyes meeting his pretty blue ones. After which, he allows his hands to sneak behind you and grab a nice handful of your ass within his palm.

Ultimately, you were left looking up at him all surprised and confused. Gojo is touchy, sure. He always has been but… he doesn’t normally touch you so intimately out in the open like this. It was different. Not that you minded it but, it left you to wonder who or what he wanted to showcase these touches off to…

His cheeks were similarly flushed to how Hori��s were when you last looked at her, again leading you to wonder if he’d dranken anything. “Satoru,” You call out gently, moving your hands to cup his cheek and lull his expression a bit closer to your own for better study. “Have you been drinking?”

Gojo’s eyes take a second to actually focus on you, which silently tells you all you need to know. “Juuuust a lil’, yeah.” He admits to you.

To which you frown, “You went off and drank without me too? Wowww.” Your voice is clearly dramatic but Gojo seems to pout anyway.

Leaning in to you, he rests his forehead against yours and his arms circulate your waist again as he hugs you properly. “I jus’ had like, one cup of somethin’.” Gojo explains, his voice softening whilst his lashes bat in an innocent manner.

You stare at him. “One cup and you’re tipsy already?” You say, releasing a soft fit of laughter.

Gojo scrunches up his face a bit and you feel like it’s just you and him in the room right now, despite sounds of people laughing and talking all loud surrounding the two of you. “Mhmm. I don’t drink too often ‘cause I can't really handle alcohol too well,” He explains to you with a slight clearing of his throat.

The distant sound of Tory Lanez’s ‘The Color Violet’ can be heard and it makes Gojo lift his head and glance back toward where most people are dancing and the music is at its loudest.

Your eyes remain up on the man, “Should I be worried?”

He looks at you again and smiles, his brows tweezing together. “What? No. I’ve been told I get clingy when I’m drunk but aside from that, I’ve never done anything… stupid, I guess.” You hum in acknowledgement and Gojo starts backing away, tugging you along with him before he motions toward the dance floor. “Now c’mon, I owe you a dance, don’t I?”

It takes you a second or two to allow your body to be pulled properly with him but after that, your hand ends up in his and he soon pulls you through the crowd of people. 

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

The music gradually gets louder and louder until it consumes the entirety of your senses. You could feel the vibrations of the bass within each step you took, the music blurred throughout your ears, and all the dancing and lingering smell of marijuana and alcohol truly gave you that party atmosphere you’d forgotten about over the years. Before you even realize it, Gojo’s got you somewhere lost amid groups and groups of people dancing, trailing you closest to him using the grasp he had on your hand until you were able to dance right with him.

In contrast to dancing at that gala with him, you feel a lot more at ease here (surprisingly). Instead of gentle sways and intimate slow dancing, it’s more of sensual rolling of bodies against one another and long lasting glances all up and down your body that make you feel warmer than you should be. 

Gojo’s got his hands everywhere with little care as to who sees what. From your hips, following their structure and the way you sway them around and against him, to your waist, twirling you around so that your back is facing him one moment and then vice versa so he can gather all of your neon illuminated features.

His favorite bit of the dancing is very obviously when your back is facing him and you dance against him. It’s in the smooth rock of your hips against him that he gets lost in, eyes all casted downward on your lower half, watching the way you dance back against him. One moment he’s smiling and the next he’s genuinely dazed by you. Then again, it could’ve been the alcohol in his system that made all his senses feel heightened like that.

Gojo felt like he was high simply from dancing with you. So much so that at some point he had to ask you if he could go sit down for a bit because you were uh… causing a bit of stiffening to stir up in between his legs. Part of you wanted to tease him about how just a bit of grinding back on him had turned him on but, another part of you was ready to loosen up a bit and partake in some drinking of your own.

Nothing crazy of course but, you felt like you would be a little stiff in the crowd without Gojo by your side and if he wanted to go sit down but you wanted to continue dancing, you’d have to get some alcohol in you to lessen the tension in your body. As such, a small conversation between you and Gojo took place and he ended up pointing you toward the kitchen before letting you know he wouldn’t be too far off.

The house was huge but with the directions he gave you, you figured you’d be fine.

And honestly? You were fine navigating through people on your own this time. But just in case, Gojo did take it a step further and message you the same thing he’d told you (just in case you didn’t hear him perfectly enough over the music). 

How considerate of him. You thought to yourself as you made your way down a hallway and toward the far off kitchen.

Upon entering the space, you spot a few people making their own drinks, smoking, or talking with a friend but ultimately it’s a lot more laid back in comparison to the dance floor you’d previously been on. This allows you a moment to breathe, exhaling softly as you make way for the first stack of red plastic cups you find.

As you find a decent space on the counter to prepare your stuff, you begin to replay the small events from this party in your head. Smiling, you realize how wonderful everything’s been going for you thus far. You met two guys who were really nice, one of whom seemed to be acquainted with Gojo, Utahime was really friendly with you, and then dancing with Gojo just felt… nice. It was almost like things had gone too good for you tonight. Well, safe for Hori repeatedly interrupting something for you and failing to even say hi to you.

It’s not like you were expecting her to but, it would’ve been nice. She was standing right in front of you. Twice.

But hey, maybe she didn’t even remember you and the small convo you had with her. After all, this is her party and she clearly knows a lot of people so there’s probably a million and one things occupying that brain of hers. Speaking of which, that small conversation you had with her reminds you… didn’t you invite—

“How much for a ride, princess?” Choso’s voice suddenly hits your ears and you practically flinch out of your skin.

Your elbow instinctively shoots back and you nudge him right in his stomach with a loud yelp, “Jesus-, fuck, Choso!” You spew out before clasping your hands over your mouth in response to the sound of surprise you’d let out. “Scared the hell outta’ me.”

He lets out a laugh in between some sort of cough, probably one provoked from your strike against him just now. Slowly, his coughing fades into a full on chuckle and you move your eyes to gather the sight of him behind you. He’s wearing red and black, his hair tied up into two messy pigtails using these red hair ties, and—holy shit. Choso’s dressed up as Garu from Pucca. 

The realization makes you gasp dramatically as you turn around to face him fully. “Oh my God? Are you… Is that a Garu costume?!” You exclaim, moving your hands to his shirt and tugging him a bit close as you study the big red heart imprinted on the center of it.

Choso finally clears his throat and drops his eyes down to the way you’re pinching the hem of his shirt in between your fingers, “Uh, obviously?” He remarks sassily before lifting his gaze to your costume and cocking his head to the side. “And what are you supposed to be? A cowgirl?”

“Obviously,” You say mockingly. “Didn’t you just ask me how much for a ride like twenty seconds ago??”

His red gloved hand moves to brush your touch off of his shirt and then he smirks. “Yeah, ‘n you didn’t even answer, jus’ gave me a mean nudge to the gut…”

“You scared me!” You huff out to him.

Choso’s eyes settle firmly on the cleavage of your tits, not making any sort of attempt to avert his gaze as he talks to you, “I know.” His tone makes it seem as though he did that on purpose. “But I had to get back at you somehow. Who the hell invites their friend to a party and then makes no attempt to see if they’re still coming or if they even made it?”

Oh damn. You did kinda forget about him as soon as you got around Gojo… You don’t think Choso’s even crossed your mind again since earlier that morning. “Ohh uhm, sorry about that.” You say, a slight awkwardness drafting by mere seconds afterwards.

Choso gives you this loose nod of his head before stepping past you. “Yeah uhuh,” He hums casually whilst taking two of those red cups out from their stack. “Too distracted dancin’ with your partner to think about me, right?”

Your eyes follow him as he moves and you watch the way he fixes two drinks—one of them clearly for you. “He… He’s not my partner, Cho. I just—“

“No? But you two are matching,” He points out as he interrupts your next sentence. “Cowboy and Cowgirl too, how cute,” Then, Choso’s turning his head to look at you with this expression you can’t quite read as the next words leave his lips lowly. “Wonder if you’ll ride him the same way you did me.”

“What—“

He scoffs, “Yeah, y’gonna show him all the things you showed me?” He presses even further, taking a step away from preparing those drinks and toward you. Your body seems to not want to listen to you because you remain still and don’t even try to step back. Choso leans in close and angles his head to the side as his eyes remain dead set on yours, “Hm? Are you gonna beg him to fuck you the same way you begged for my cock that night?”

You’re left staring at him all speechless and dumbfounded, no sharp remarks to throw back at him, no attempts at arguing with him, just… nothing. 

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[dumbbitchenergy17]

Reunion Interview

Plot: A reunion of our two favorite actors following their crazy lives after the ending of the fan-favorite show: The Mandalorian

Word Count: 4.7K

Pairing: Platonic!Pedro Pascal x Platonic!Reader, Paul Mescal x Reader

Warnings: sweet "father-daughter" moments, laughter giggles, just general fluff

A/N: This is something that's been on my mind for a while and with Gladiator 2 this only fueled it. CONTAINS CLAN OF THREE SPOILERS+WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE. Read all of the Clan of Three Series here and also read Where the Wild Things Are here

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“Alright, we are all ready?” The interviewer asks and the cameramen and sound people each give their sounds of agreement and then turn to give the go-ahead to start, “Hello guys it’s a pleasure meeting you two. It must be good to reunite once again. Let’s get a little introduction then go crazy.” He greets the two actors sitting next to each other.

“Hello world I’m Pedro Pascal.” “And I’m Y/n L/n and we’re here with Variety Magazine.” The two of you greet the camera before looking at one another. Pedro gives a fake serious look and you roll your eyes at his antics and he burst into laughter.

“This is what I dealt with for five years oh god how did I do it.” You pinch the bridge of your nose while the older man dies down his chuckles.

“Don’t act all innocent you were in just as much mischief as I was.” Pedro points at you, “I was barely an adult on set you’re supposed to be the responsible one.” It seemed like years had flown by. This TV show was your breakthrough role and allowed your career to skyrocket and it was all thanks to meeting this man.

“Plenty of fun stories from set between the cast and crew.” The interviewer asks you both and Pedro nods enthusiastically.

“The first two seasons this one was attached to my hip. I couldn’t even go for a nap without her waiting outside of my trailer.” He says with a chuckle and you cross your arms.

“You were the only person on set who was childish enough to want to hang out with a high schooler.” You reply sassily and the interviewer has to cover his mouth to hide his laughter while Pedro gasps dramatically while holding his chest. “How dare you call me childish.”

“So Y/n being the youngest person of the cast and growing up on the show how did it affect your character?” You smile smoothing out the wrinkle in your pants.

“Well, I was cast in 2018 a couple of months after Pedro was already cast. It’s funny cause Dave and Jon actually when creating this show my character was never meant to be in this show just an idea thrown around.” You explain, “But they decided why not add another bounty for Mando to take care of, but through the show, they both learn to take care of each other and he becomes a father figure to her.”

“And Pedro how was that playing a role of becoming a father figure and being there in her life?” He asks and Pedro scratches his beard.

“I mean at first not gonna lie I was very nervous. I have worked with younger actors before but this was something different. It wasn’t a child actor that played my son or daughter, or someone who was an adult it was a teenager that I would be working with quite closely. I mean we met for our first table read and you were just this shy girl who was meant to be this sassy badass character. But you blew me and the crew away when we started working together,” Pedro says glancing over at you with a nostalgic look in his eyes, “Both the relationship of our characters had this whole evolution from being adversaries and not even friendly with one another to a bond that ran deeper than blood. I watched her grow up with every episode and season from that timid little girl to this strong intelligent woman before me.” You give a pouting smile before putting your face in your hands.

“I hate you. You’re gonna make me cry.” You sigh making the interviewer and Pedro laugh and wraps his arms around your hunched-over body rocking you side to side. “You’re not the only one teary-eyed,” The interviewer says fanning his eyes and you smile at his attempt to not single you out.

“It’s all good I’m professional.” You steel your face wiping away any trace of sadness from his touching speech. “Yeah, Pedro is an alright guy I guess.” You shrug and Pedro bursts into laughter throwing his head back

“Okay getting back on track. You’ve both been very busy this past year. Season 3 of The Mandalorian has been out and fans are both crying over how good this show is and how you tore us all apart with the ending.” He says and Pedro fake cries remembering the ending.

“Hey, I didn’t want her to leave me. She went to go find herself.” He points his thumb at me and you slap it away, “I didn’t have a decision in it as well. You should have seen him on my final day of filming, so as you know this man over here was gone pretty much all of season three cause he was filming his show with his other kids.” Referencing Bella Ramsey and Nico Parker his two other ‘children’ in The Last Of Us.

“Pedro is just our favorite father figure.” The interviewer says and you nod in agreement. “You have too many children to keep count of.” You say and Pedro gives a sheepish grin.

“I’m just good with kids.” He shrugs.

“But anyways so since he was busy filming for that show we were able to have his amazing stunt doubles, I love you Brendan and Lateef become him. So comes my final scene where I leave and Din is left all sad with Grogu. I think he’s in Canada filming and we block out the scene Dave and Jon tell us we’re all set. That scene feels very close to me 'cause it feels like my goodbye to both the character and to the crew who’s been there since I was eighteen.” You remember the sadness that day on set knowing that this was your final hours with this group.

“So we start rolling and I go through my whole monologue,”

“Which was amazing by the way.” The interviewer butts in and you smile,

“Oh thank you. So I do my thing and who I think is Brendan just breaks down crying before he can say his line I panic and try to improvise to get him back on track but when Dave calls cut I expect it to be Brendan to take off the helmet and apologize but turns out it was this crybaby.” You point your thumb to an embarrassed Pedro.

“Did you expect no waterworks when you were leaving me?” He defends himself, “I didn’t expect you there in the first place! But it was sweet and after many takes because he couldn’t get through his lines without crying we finished my last scenes.”

“I have seen that video from Dave Filoni of the behind-the-scenes of your final day on set.” On the TV beside the interviewer plays a video that shows the set and crew and there are the two of you going through the scene before Jon calls cut.

You remember that take vividly it ended up being the one used for the final cut, the second ‘Cut!’ was shouted the crew broke into cheers. You immediately crouch and break into tears and Pedro removes his helmet pulling you into a bearhug crying into your shoulder you both cry out your characters and each other's final goodbyes on set.

“Give it up to Y/n for her final scene! That’s a wrap for her.” Dave says behind the camera as it moves closer to you and Pedro. Both of you were teary-eyed, Pedro looking like a wreck as you give a cheesy grin through tears and Pedro presses a kiss to your temple before pulling you into another tight hug and that’s when the video ends.

“A very heartfelt video that shows the bond you two have working together over five years.” He says and the two of you smile. Just being a part of the Star Wars franchise had been a dream, growing up watching the original and the prequels as a child and now being involved in this story was game-changing. “Outside of Star Wars, you’ve both been very busy Pedro with Wonder Woman, The Unbearable Weight, hosting SNL, and one of the most popular shows of this year The Last of Us.”

“Stop it you’re making me blush.” Pedro waves his hand acting bashfully, “Don’t forget the three Emmy nominations.” You pipe in and Pedro covers his face at all the compliments headed his way. This man was way too humble.

“You’re not off the hook either you’ve been very busy yourself, you got your nomination for an Emmy for ‘The Mandalorian’, you’ve been in Bullet Train, Across the Spider-Verse, In the Heights, the latest Indiana Jones, and you just wrapped up A Quiet Place: Day One, all while going to school and getting your college degree now finally enjoying adulthood, how is that like.” The interviewer reminds you of the work you’ve done in the past five years.

You laugh twisting the rings that adore your fingers, “I mean high school was easier as I had an on-set teacher and graduated right around in the middle of filming In the Heights. Then for college right as the pandemic hit we all were on lockdown I continued with online courses and once it lifted it was working a schedule of classes and work but all the films I’ve been on have been so accommodating. With the program I took I graduated right after we wrapped Season 3 and before the Press Tour,” Pedro makes a cheering noise as the interviewer laughs.

“I’m assuming you were in attendance for that Pedro?” He questions and Pedro nods enthusiastically, “Of course, I was there for both high school and college! I made a sign and everything.” He and the interviewer laugh as you shake your head.

“Did he?!”

“It was the same big sign with a bunch of horrible pictures of me I think it said, ‘Y/n L/n my unofficial daughter’ with like a bunch of hearts.” You can picture the sign clearly remembering both high school and college walking across the stage to receive your diploma and hearing your friends and family cheer Pedro being one of the loudest.

“Since graduating and now fully dedicating yourself to film how has it been?” The interviewer questions and you give a wide smile.

“I love it so much, while it was stressful balancing work and classes being done is so rewarding. I’ve been able to accept so many new projects and attend so many events I couldn’t before due to classes.” In college, you and your manager had discussed your schedule working around sets while focusing on your education. You decided to strictly do online courses just to make things easier if you do need to travel for work but you’ve been to school events and made friends in college despite your virtual learning.

“Is this the first time you are meeting back up in person since the premiere of Season Three?” He asks and it makes sense with your guys’ busy schedules.

“No surprisingly since we wrapped Season Three there was a time when we didn’t see each other, with Pedro busy with Strange Way of Life, and I had just ended college. Plus I just moved to New York and then got involved with A Quiet Place we didn’t see each other in person until I think it was when you hosted SNL..?” You explain and Pedro perks up.

“Nooo you were there for the premiere of The Last of Us.” He calls you out and your jaw drops you completely forget how busy and how many premieres it all blends. “I would say you kinda stole the show when you appeared on the carpet, none of us were expecting you to be there.” The interviewer says with a laugh.

“That would be an understatement. So it’s the night before the premiere I’m in LA and I think she’s still in New York I remember I called you cause I felt like I was going to die,” Pedro retells and you laugh remembering picking up the phone to see a very nervous Pedro who was pacing in a panic about the premiere for the show.

“You were fine just being a big baby as usual you did the same thing during season one.” He shushes you trying to cover your mouth with his hand but you dodge from it.

“ANYWAYS,” He raises his voice, “Night of the premiere and I feel like I’m going to puke and crap myself all at the same time. But I get there everything is alright I see the rest of the cast happy to see Bellie again all those good things. I’m doing an interview and I think Bella was still on the carpet taking some photos when this roar of cheers came from the beginning. I’m thinking it’s Ashley Johnson or Troy Baker the original Joel and Ellie but I can’t see from down there. So they want me to get some photos with Bella and how I couldn’t tell they were planning something is beyond me.” You and the interviewer start giggling and you see queued up is a video from that night.

“Oh god, you have a video!” Pedro groans covering his face and you nudge him forcing him to watch.

The shouts of fans and photographers as Pedro poses for photos and you can see Bella go over and pull him over as the pair take photos together. Pedro places his hand on his stomach a technique he has used for years to quell his anxiety. The flashing lights and screams of fans only grow louder for a second and he just laughs confused at them. Bella squeezes his arm from his right side and he can sense a presence on his left side and he assumes it’s another cast member.

“Hey P…” A voice whispers in his ear and his eyes widen comically and he whips to turn to face you who has a cheesy smile on your face.

“What the fuck!”

The cameras show Pedro quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you in the air and you laugh loudly before he puts you down and immediately talks rapidly questioning how you are here, how this happened, when you planned this, he had just called you a few hours before. The cameras start yelling at you two to pose and the pair of you pose a big grin spread across Pedro’s face. The video ends as he pulls Bella and Nico making it a group photo of all his on-screen daughters.

You laugh as it freezes at the photo of all of you smiling and laughing.

“I’m still in shock you managed to pull a fast one on me but that truly made my night,” Pedro says.

“It was all Bella and Nico’s planning I didn’t even know how they even managed to keep it from you during all those press tours. I was fully there like four days before the premiere,” You say, and on the screen are photos you had posted following the surprise of you hanging with Bella and Nico, and the rest of the last of us crew. One photo that makes you giggle is you standing before a snoring Pedro on a couch in a green room that you had Bella take for you when you snuck to watch their interviews.

“Speaking of Bella and Nico. I would say you including Sophie Thatcher blew up the internet in the ‘Children of Pedro’ interview,” The interviewer mentions and you smile and a thumbnail of the interview with you and these amazing actors and actresses.

“Oh, that interview was so much fun. It was the first time I met Bella and Nico as I worked alongside Sophie during Boba Fett and we all had this instant chemistry. Following that we all became good friends and we try to hang out when any of us are in town or plan stuff.” You explain and you see Pedro has a warm smile happy to see all the people he cares deeply for are friends, “Pedro’s glad all his children aren’t fighting.” You smirk and both the interviewer and Pedro laugh at your comment.

“I’m glad my home has some form of order,” Pedro bounces off your quip and the interviewer looks over some of his notes.

“Alright, I have some fan questions sent in for the both of you to answer if that’s alright.” He asks as both you and Pedro take sips from your drinks.

“Sounds great!” “Hit me with them.”

The interviewer nods excitedly looking over at you, “Alright Y/n we’ll start with you. This is a question from @pedroswife1975 ‘I was just as gagged at Pedro’s SNL performance I wanted to know if you had any clue of Pedro’s plans or did you go in just as blind as everyone else.’.” The screen shows a college work on Pedro’s SNL night.

“Oh, that was a crazy night, I was so excited to hear he was hosting SNL cause I was used to this guy’s craziness,” You say pointing a thumb at the older man, “I didn’t realize he was dropping hints or asking for my opinion like the fan cam skit he asked me about how I felt about like fan edits. To those watching I love them so much and genuinely lay in bed kicking my legs seeing the crazy shit yall make of me or people I know. Also, that fucking voice in the memory lost one.” Pedro bursts into laughter.

“What voice? This is my normal talking voice.” He flawlessly does the valley girl's voice that makes you speak through giggles.

“I think it was when he was in New York to rehearse for SNL and we’ve been meeting up and hanging out and we were at this cafe and he slips into this voice and I literally couldn’t help giggling,” You say, “So when I go to the taping I had to cover my mouth to stop from giggling everyone second.”

“It’s an amazing voice though.” The interviewer says in the valley girl accent, “Oh totally it’s completely amazingggg.” You respond by going heavy on the vocal fry unable to burst into a fit of giggles alongside Pedro.

“Okay, next question for Pedro. This is from @y/nssoulmate ‘I’m dying to know cause those Instagram photos were insane, but how crazy was Y/n’s 21st birthday?! Please I’m dying to know I’ll give my first child to know!!’.” You immediately groan covering your face and the pair laugh. On the screen appears a photo of your twenty-first birthday it’s partially blurry but it’s of you looking plastered. A ‘21’ crown halfway on your frizzy hair from the humidity of Pedro’s apartment that he transformed into a club vibe, a drunk grin on your face with an arm around Pedro’s shoulder the other holding a martini. Pedro is practically holding you up looking drunk as well as a beer in his free hand.

Pedro chuckles rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m going to be so honest I don’t remember much of that night. Someone thought it was a good idea to try and outdrink each other.”

“Hey! I was given full rein since it was my birthday. You were meant to be the responsible adult. Luckily Sarah Paulson and Oscar Issac were the actual adults that night,” You defend yourself. Truly that night was a blur but it was such a fun night. Your friends had taken you out for breakfast and a full day of celebration before you received a text from Pedro to go to his apartment to get his gift that he accidentally shipped to his place. Turns out it was a surprise and he was able to come back from shooting for The Last of Us and bring along your close friends and family.

“For my soulmate unfortunately neither Pedro nor I remember that night but trust from what those there that night it was the best birthday someone could through for me. Though I did avoid alcohol for like a month.” You say and Pedro groans remembering the hangout you both suffered the following day.

“Okay question for you Ms. Partyer. @imstillsadfromkazsdeath,” You laugh at hearing from the person’s social handle, “Their question is with news of both Wicked which you worked alongside Director John Chu during In the Heights, and Gladiator 2 has your co-star, Joseph Quinn, your father-figure Pedro, and your friend Paul Mescal coming out at the same time. Which are you seeing first Wicked or Gladiator 2?” On the screen, it shows a college of you with each respective person mentioned. A photo of you nineteen on set in New York City with John Chu and Lin Manuel Miranda, a picture of you and Pedro during premiere of season 3 of Mandalorian, a picture of you and Joseph Quinn on the set of A Quiet Place both dusty and covered in fake blood, and finally a picture of you and Paul Mescal at the this recent Met Gala a candid photo of inside the event talking during dinner.

“One more of a sidebar, I’m still sad about Kaz’s death if I could’ve changed it I would’ve both Freddy and I were so bummed filming those scenes. But for your question fuck you.” You answer so seriously that both Pedro and the interviewer burst into laughter.

“Seriously fuck you for making me choose. One I love John Chu and I am so excited to see Wicked I’ve been obsessed with it since a kid and I saw Idina and Kristin on Broadway so I need to see what Cynthia and Ariana do with this. But I also love all three guys and want to support them too 'cause I also love Gladiator and I know my father would be super betrayed since it’s our go-to movie to watch.” You were in such a rough spot.

“Can I clone myself?” You ask and both Pedro and the interviewer shake their head which makes you let out a frustrated groan, “You know what? I’ll see whatever movie I get invited to first. This leaves me not to choose it’s in the hands of John and the boys so they need to battle it out.”

“Wow, seriously such a cop-out,” Pedro whines and you shrug, “You can’t force me to decide if I don’t have the choice.”

“Very well played. Alright, our final question for Pedro from @pedroiszaddyfr they ask ‘Hey Pedro if I get chosen I’m absolutely in love with you and just want you to know that.”

“Aw, I love you too,” Pedro replies and the interviewer continues.

“So my question is in The Last of Us after season 1 in the books ‘The Last of Us: Where the Wild Things Are’ we do get introduced to Joel’s second biological daughter is there any potential plans to include them in the show making them canon since they aren’t in Part 2 and if so. Please for the love of all these mighty get Y/n to play your daughter she would kill the role!” The interviewer chuckles at the question and you look over at Pedro who thinks over the question.

“Well as I’m sure many of you do know in the books we do get an extremely interesting character that changes and adds more depth to the characters of the game. I’d love them to add her into the show and we see the change in Joel and Ellie during the period before season two. I mean I’d be so down for Y/n to be a part of this but that’s in the hands of Craig and Neil. Unless you know something I don’t?” Pedro turns to look at you and you raise your hands shaking your head.

“I’m just as clueless as you. But I would love to be a part of the show. I’ve read the book and she truly is such an interesting character. I mean that opening fight scene in the cabin before Joel and Tommy pull up is so fucking cool. But yeah Craig and Neil hit me up before Pedro starts begging and whining.” You say and a bark of laughter comes from the older man.

“Well thank you both so much for taking the time and talking about your lives and this amazing reunion. Is this the last you too will see each other until the next reunion?” The interviewer says.

“Nope! This girl can’t get rid of me now that we’re both back in New York for the time being.” Pedro says wrapping an arm around your shoulder and resting his head on top of yours.

“If anyone wants to take this old man off my hand you can have him,” You comment and Pedro gasps pushing you away from him as you giggle, “I’m kidding I love him and he’s amazing but yeah we got tickets for Beyonce coming up so I am very excited while I need this one to listen to her entire discography before we go,” You point your thumb at him and he raises his hand.

“Hey, I got a decent chunk under my belt. Plus I’ve known Beyonce longer than you.” Pedro says and the pair of you being bickering having that be the outro of the interview.

The pair of you collect your items from your dressing rooms before heading outside. Pedro has his arm wrapped around your shoulder to make sure you don’t bump into anything your gaze glued to your phone. The cool New York breeze sends chills down your spine as you scroll through Instagram. A buzz from your phone a text saying ‘Look up’ and when you look up you see Paul standing a few feet away in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt a trench coat over it with a cap and glasses.

“Paul!” You smile lowering your phone and pulling away from Pedro to go over to Paul who welcomes you in his arms, “I thought we were gonna meet at dinner?”

He shrugs a half grin on his face, “Thought I surprise you and then we can head together. What’s up Pedro” You smile at his thoughtfulness. Pedro accepts his handshake.

“Good to see you Paul, how’s the city treating you?” He asks knowing that Paul came here just a few days ago from London when you mentioned it.

“Good real good. You know how the city usually is but luckily I have a good guide,” Paul says squeezing your shoulder and you flush shying away. Pedro smiles glad to see you are happy as the pair of you look at each other with loving looks.

“Well, I’ll leave you both be to enjoy the rest of your night. I got plans to meet with Sarah and Lux soon,” He says giving Paul a handshake before you pull away and give Pedro a big hug which he equally reciprocates.

“Send Sarah and Lux my regards.” You say and Pedro nods, “Lux wants to see you soon so be sure to reach out to her.”

“I will and don’t forget we have drinks this Friday,” You say pointing your finger at him and he nods while pulling out his headphones.

“Yes, mom…” He rolls his eyes before starting to walk away sending a final wave, “Have a good night!”

“Bye Pedro.” “Bye P I love you!” You shout so he can hear over his headphones.

“Love you too kid!” He says blowing you a kiss before disappearing within the crowd. You bring your attention back to Paul who tucks a stray strand behind your ear.

“What are you looking at? Is something on my face?” You ask trying to reach for your face but he stops you holding your hand and giving a squeeze.

“I’m just looking at you, a chuisle mo chroí. You’re just beautiful is all.” He says slipping to Irish so easily it sends a shiver down your spine at his accent.

“Stop being so cheesy,” Your face flushes hot as you shove him away starting in the direction of the subway station. You hear him run up after you easily wrapping his arm around your waist before placing a kiss on your lips which you eagerly accept your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Pulling away a bit, he gives a familiar smirk that makes you grin as you fully step back taking hand and the pair make their way to your plans.

“You’re such a sap.”

“A sap for you my love~”

“Shut up!”

a/n: y'all I'm alive I swear these finals have truly been killing me and TRUST, any paused work will be coming back I swear on my unborn child.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request someone for Viktor? Maybe established relationship between reader and viktor where while he’s healing (?) in the box (I forgot what it was called), while the hexcore reacted negatively to Mel (extended spikes to her), it responded positively toward reader? Like it wanted them near it? Sorry if this is weird

You didn’t know what you were looking at in the beginning. The purple and gold accented box like structure that easily towered over you and Mel, pulsated as though it were a sentient creature, and resting inside it with only his face visible was your beloved Viktor as he looked to be in a deep slumber and not teetering between life and death.

‘What is this thing.’ You asked as all you felt that you could do was stare at Viktor’s face and hope to whoever listened that he’d live, that he’d survive so you could embrace him like lovers did in times of crisis to be assured that he was okay, that he wasn’t going to leave you so unfairly when he had so much left to do. Not your Viktor, he was yours to keep and to treasure however you could, even if it meant displeasing a higher power but you were selfish and wanted to love Viktor for far longer then what you were already given.

‘It’s the hexcore, it’s evolving at a rapid rate which is a concern, but it’s the singular thing keeping Viktor alive as of this moment.’ Mel replies as she placed her hand upon your shoulder when she saw the look of uncertainty and fear within your eyes the more you looked upon the man you were so close to loosing. To Mel in that moment you looked like a person who was already in the process of making funeral arrangements, a thing that no one should ever have to think about in such detail when it came to burying a loved one, but yet was so desperate to be proven wrong and to be happy about it as it would mean you didn’t have to say goodbye, at least not yet.

‘He’s healing y/n.’ She reassures you softly, squeezing your shoulder, ‘he’s not leaving you yet, not if the hexcore keeping him alive has anything to say about that.’ And at the sound of your name the box like structure seemed to let out a kind of purr? It startled you both as you looked towards the box with similar thoughts starting to form in both of your heads.

‘Did that thing just purr?’ You said.

‘I believe it did and to your name as well, how peculiar.’ Mel reaffirms your theory as her face creases into one of deep thought. You on the other hand felt the need to go towards it, also it as if something was tugging at you, encouraging you to get in close to the box like structure and be close to Viktor however you possibly could and so you took a brave step forwards as the box only seemed to hum in response to your presence. However Mel grasped your elbow and tired to pull you away from the thing, remembering how violently it had reacted towards her the drift time she got too close, only for the box to shot spikes out in her direction as though seeing her as a threat to you.

The box anomaly seemed to grumble and groan in distrust and weariness as Mel was quick to pull her hand away from your arm, watching on as the thing encasing Viktor seemed to calm down to a gentle purring and cooing whilst glowing a softer light to welcome you.

‘Speak to it.’ She encourages.

You swallow thickly as you began to say the first thing that came to mind. ‘Viktor? I don’t know if you can hear me in there but it’s me y/n, you’re dorodaya.’ The box once again purred at your name and this time you couldn’t help but smile softly, feeling as though it was Viktor you were talking to and not the box keeping him alive. You couldn’t explain it but there was a familiarity to it that made you feel warm, comforted and all other emotions that you had linked to Viktor, suddenly the box felt more like home to you then it did five minutes ago.

‘Yes it’s me my darling.’ Your feet were pretty much leading you towards the box by themselves at the point and you didn’t feel it necessary to fight against it, not when its presence brought you the same amount of comfort and peace that Viktor did whenever he smiled and or laughed, looking ethereal as he did so which only made you fall harder for your beloved scientist. ‘I’m right here, I’m okay but I need to know if you’re okay my love. Can you do that for me?’ You asked softly and once you were within a substantial distance from the box white tendrils began to emerge from its surface, almost as if someone was breaking through to breath, and they stretched out towards you like a hand waiting for you to take into your own.

You looked to Mel who smiled back at you, gesturing you to touch it and you looked back to the outside tendrils that waiting eagerly for your touch, though not before looking up at Viktor’s face and smiling softly, as you built up the courage to extend a hand out and intertwine your fingers with it as it enclosed its hold on you.

‘You’re okay my sweet Viktor.’ You whispered to yourself as you allowed yourself to be pulled towards the box where more white tendrils broke through the surface to touch you in someway, as though drawing you into a long overdue hug. ‘You’re okay.’ You echoed as your face pressed against the surface of the box, closing your eyes as the initial cold sensation became one of warmth, making you melt even further into its embrace while as even more white tendrils latched themselves to your legs and thighs; anchoring you to this one spot as it chirped in your ear happily.

Your Viktor was alive you could feel it the more you were pressed against the surface pulsating, almost breathing surface of the box, you could feel his warmth upon you without him having to hold you; and it was almost as if you could hear his voice inside your head as it whispered of reassurance that your beloved Viktor was okay and that was more then enough to have you spare a few unshed tears in silent relief.