#because when you start peeling and you peel halfway up your nail its going to take so much longer to grow them back out

[traitormithos]

Random: I'm really happy my nails are back to being healthy

It only took 4 months...

[kingdaddydaichi]

can i request consensual hate sex between bakugou and f!reader

Oooooh yassssss! This idea got better and better the more I thought about it, Nonny. Love it! I hope you enjoy this naughty little slice of grudge fuck pie. 💖

Riding The Fine Line 💥 Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader 💥 NSFW

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT or I'll have my Big Scary BoomBoom Man blow your little ass up!

Word Count: 2k

"Oi! Who picked this shitty restaurant anyway?", Bakugou sneered as he walked towards the table.

You rolled your eyes and mumbled, "Oh look, Gorilla Man is here".

"Watch it, shitty girl. M'not in the mood for your shit tonight".

You'd made plans earlier in the week to meet Kiri and Mina for dinner. You knew Bakugou had been invited too, but after having suffered through it so many times over the past year or so of having some friends in common, you somehow managed to tolerate his presence. It helped that the drink you'd been sipping on made him somewhat less intolerable than usual.

It was like nails down a chalkboard every time Bakugou reared his big dumb head. His only redeeming quality was that he was quite easy on the eyes. Shame that such a hot guy is also such a huge asshole.

He's always given everyone a hard time, but unlike most people, you just wave a dismissive hand at him. And it makes him crazy. He doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get under your skin like he so easily does others. Oh, he annoys the piss out of you to be sure, but he doesn't hurt your feelings per se.

"Y'know, for such a massive ego yours sure is delicate, you meat head".

"Oh yeah? Well, for such a massive ass yours s-"

"God, Bakugou, do you ever just shut up?", you snipped.

Kiri and Mina both jumped in, laughing nervously and smoothing things over to lower the tension. He growled at you. You flipped him a subtle bird before looking away and trying to ignore him.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Kiri's birthday was approaching and several of his friends decided to throw him a surprise birthday party. You, Denki, Mina, and ugh, as luck would have it, Bakugou, were are all put in charge of decorating his house while some other friends took him out for dinner. Midway through, Mina whined while sorting through various sacks, "Oh no! We forgot the disposable rainbow shot glasses!" Mina had a way of putting a cute touch on everything she had her hands in. Denki offered to go with Mina to procure the missing miniature party cups, leaving you and Bakugou alone to hang streamers in Kiri's living room. Probably not the wisest of decisions, but consider the source. 👀

It didn't take long after they were gone for Bakugou to start in on you with his bullshit. Only this time no one was around to referee. You groaned. This was going to be a free for all. You'd already both cut eyes at each other a couple of times.

"You're not doing it right, dumbass!"

"That's a matter of opinion and you can shove yours up your ass, dumbass".

He flipped you off saying, "You can shove this up your ass!", then turned back to his task.

You were so done. Without thinking, you reared back and hurled the roll of streamers as hard as you could, nailing him right in the back of the head. Damn, it felt good.

He whipped around, a vein popping out of his forehead, clenching his teeth. You were quite proud of your aim until he made little explosions in his free hand and said, "You're really pushing your luck with me, woman! If we weren't in Kiri's house right now I'd blast you right through that fucking wall!"

"Pfft, whatever! You wouldn't do shit. You're all bark and no bite, you fucking douche canoe!"

"You ever stop to think that maybe if you weren't such a bitch guys might actually want to talk to you?"

That did it. He'd finally found one of your hot buttons and you couldn't take his shit anymore. You marched right up to him and got right up in his face, height difference be damned.

"You know what, fuck you, Bakugou! I'm not normally like this! You're the only person who…drives me to this madness!", you spat with tears in your eyes.

A second later, his hands were on either side of your face, crashing his lips down onto yours. You were so shocked you froze before pulling away from him, staring at him in astonishment. He just stood there, huffing, glaring back at you, waiting.

You stepped forward and pushed him, his back hitting the wall, hard. But before he could protest, your lips were on his again. He grabbed you by your arms and spun you around, pinning you against the wall. You slipped your tongue past your open mouth, his meeting yours halfway as he pushed his knee between your legs. He pressed his thigh against your sex, shoving his growing cock against your thigh in the process.

Taking the bottom of his shirt into two fistfuls, you eagerly pushed it up to his chest, exposing his washboard abs and god-like pecs. He quickly pulled it over his head and threw it to the floor while your shaky hands got busy with his belt and zipper, urgently, like you couldn't get to him soon enough. But his will took over when he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head so he could peel your shirt off. He dipped down to take a mouthful of your tit, cupping what he couldn't fit in his rough hand, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sucking, then releasing you from the inside of his mouth to flick the tip of his tongue over your pink nub. You grabbed two handfuls of his ash blond locks and arched your back off the wall as he gave your other breast the same treatment.

You impatiently tugged on his hair, hungry for the taste of his sweet lips again. Your tongues once again fought for dominance and you gasped when he picked you up in one swift movement. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to Kiri's bedroom, swinging the door shut behind him before slamming your back against it.

"Put me down", you said forcefully.

He stopped sucking on your neck long enough to rasp, "And why the fuck should I?"

"Because I want to get into your fucking pants, asshole".

For once you two agreed on something and with your feet back on the floor, you got back to work on his pants before reaching in and wrapping your hand around his hot dick. Shit, you could barely get your fingers all the way around it, it was so thick. You stroked him a couple of times before pulling him out, exposing his manhood in all of its mouth-watering glory.

He ran his hand down his sculpted stomach, spreading his fingers to either side of his girth. "Like what you see?" You realized you were staring at his dick and the pre that dripped from it.

"Wouldn't you like to know?", you sassed.

He growled and spun you around, pushing your front against the wall and swiftly closing in behind you. Wisps of your (color) hair fluttered around his hot breath as he breathed down your neck. "You keep on tryin' to hide it, but you want me just as much as I want you, princess, and I'm gonna make an honest girl outta ya".

His battle-hardened hands found their way down your back, around your waist and all the way to your belly before he slid them down, his fingers reaching below your waistband. You willed him to push his hands further down, pressing your backside against his erection. He used one deft hand to unbutton your pants and work your zipper down, granting himself better access. When he mercifully slipped his middle finger between your folds, you couldn't choke back the moan that emerged from the back of your throat.

"Damn", he growled behind your ear, "for someone who can't stand me, your pussy sure is wet for me".

"Shut up", you gritted through your teeth.

The feeling of the rough pad of his finger teasing your swollen clit nearly sent you over the edge. But it was short-lived and you whined when he pulled his hand away to shove your pants down around your ankles, accompanied by your damp panties. Your hands slid down the wall as he yanked your ass back towards him. You hung your head and watched the head of his cock as Bakugou fucked your thighs, back and forth over your slit, coating his fat cock with your slick, readying himself.

When he began pushing into you, your legs shook from the sheer pressure as he slowly filled you up. When he bottomed out, he held himself still, at least considerate enough to give you time to adjust to his size. He waited until you started grinding against him before grabbing your hips, and slowly withdrawing.

"Now let's see if I can fuck all that hate for me out of you". Before you could retort, he slammed his cock back into you, your pitiful cry mixed with his loud groan echoing off the walls of Kiri's bedroom. He set his pace, steady and hard, the cold buckle of his open belt pressing into your skin with every crash of his hips.

"Yeah, who knows? Maybe if you'd get your dick wet every once in a while you wouldn't act like one", you quipped, voice faltering as he pounded into you.

He slowed his pace to bend over you, pushing your hair out of the way before biting down on the nape of your neck.

"Oww!! What the fuck?!"

He stood up straight again, laughing and said, "All bark and no bite, hah? You just hadn't pushed me far enough yet!" The sweet and salty mixture of his sweat and your need could be heard with every loud slap of his skin against yours.

"Fuck! Bakugou-", you whined in spite of yourself.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and gave it a firm tug. "When're ya gonna stop callin' me by m'last name and call me Katsuki instead?"

"When you stop acting like a raging asshole towards me", you managed as he fucked the breath out of you.

"Brave words for someone in such a compromising position. Now - say - my - fucking - name!". Each word came with its very own plunge of his cock into your mess of a cunt.

Your legs started to give out. "Katsuki!" You hadn't meant to obey him, but he'd kept his word and made you honest.

"That's better". You could hear the smirk in his voice after hearing his first name fall from your quivering lips.

You turned to face him when he pulled out, kissing him hard, his fingers going into your hair. You inched backwards onto the bed, Katsuki crawling in towards you with a primal look in his crimson eyes before nestling his thighs between yours and sheathing himself deep inside you again. Your head rolled back as you arched your back off the bed. Gods, the feeling of him filling you up was quickly becoming your new favorite sensation.

He nuzzled his face against your neck as he rutted into you, pulling your thigh up to his hip bone, raking his teeth against your skin. His breathing had become more labored and he started thrusting faster, your pleasure mounting with the increased friction of his pubic bone against your clit until rays of bliss shot out from every pore of your skin at the speed of light.

"K-ka-tsuki, I'm c-cumming hahh oh goddd!" The pulsating grip that you had on him finally sent him to his end as well, growling your name and cursing between clenched teeth, burying himself deep inside you as he unloaded rope after thick rope of his white hot cum into your snug, soft warmth.

"Seems Shitty Hair’s gonna get more than one surprise tonight", Katsuki said, catching his breath.

You laughed so hard that Katsuki hissed at the feeling of your walls squeezing his sensitive cock so soon after his orgasm.

"You still hate me?", he asked, brushing his lips against yours, supporting his weight with his elbows.

"Hmm...that depends", you said thoughtfully, tracing the cut of his back muscles with your fingertips.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you'd still fuck me if I don't hate you".

He smirked. "I'd still hit it even if you love me", he whispered, showing his softer side as he kissed you, smiling.

[hannie-dul-set]

PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow​ (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

it’s not.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

© HANNIE-DUL-SET. 2021.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[blahkugo]

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer. 

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’ 

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return. 

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.   

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower. 

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you? 

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth. 

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat. 

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly, 

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies. 

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of– 

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all. 

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap. 

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little? 

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule. 

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.” 

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. 

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights? 

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you. 

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste. 

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs. 

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer. 

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?” 

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle. 

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea. 

This time, you don’t cough. 

“‘Atta girl.” 

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters. 

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat. 

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him. 

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it. 

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm? 

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand. 

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. 

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view. 

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance. 

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself. 

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body. 

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining. 

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest. 

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.” 

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders. 

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car. 

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one. 

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind. 

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’ 

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish. 

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him. 

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do. 

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” 

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain. 

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.” 

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together. 

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin. 

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him. 

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors. 

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste. 

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now. 

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips. 

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace. 

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion. 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home. 

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold. 

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks. 

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away. 

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. 

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with. 

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud. 

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit. 

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.” 

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh. 

“Fuck, Teru I–”  Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high. 

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out, 

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.” 

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past. 

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal. 

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.  

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick. 

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful. 

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure. 

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him. 

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain. 

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you. 

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay. 

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?” 

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight. 

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside. 

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy. 

He won’t even meet your eyes. 

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one. 

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious. 

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see. 

You walk back home in silence. 

[korpuskat]

Kinktober Day 14 - Size Kink - [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,538 Summary:  After Jakku, Tomura returns to you... with some modifications. Contains: spoilers for Ch270+; DFAB & gender neutral reader insert; Size Kink, Big D, power? kink??, Dom/Sub undertones (Dom Tomura), ======

He comes back alive, that's all you'd asked of him. To not die to Ujiko's crazed ravings or become a mindless beast like the Noumu the doctor was so proud of- that's it. That was the deal, don't do either of those things and you'd put on a brave face and last four long months without him.

It turned out to only be three- and he comes back different. He comes back bigger.

You shake the whole time, seeing him again- all the way until you're collapsing into an old League safehouse, the adrenaline finally crashing. You lie low, wait for Tomura's wounds to heal- for his new quirk to settle into his body. His very, very different body.

It doesn't take long for his limitless libido to return, pulling you into his lap- and your hands land on shoulders that should be narrow and so slender you can feel bone. Now they're thick, the muscles flexing just beneath the skin. Before he'd been slightly cool to the touch, always running a little colder than he should- now he burns, like every inch of his body is brimming with too-full quirk energy, like a computer running too many processes-

He stops nipping at your neck to ask, "Something wrong?"

"You're so big now." You murmur, your cheeks heating as you say it. It's true- even his lap which should be thin, spindly legs with lithe thighs that have barely seen a real meal in months is now thick with muscle and a plush layer of fat from finally being fed.

His eyes narrow as he leans back, but that's his only reaction. Fuck, he's even taller.

"It's not bad." You clarify, let your hands slide and wander over his now broad chest. His hands which, to be fair, have always been kind of large but still slender settle on your hips (and that, too, is different- the press of seven real fingers, not having to worry about the all-consuming nature of decay). But now they cover so much of you, the distance from thumb to middle finger of his complete hand nearly reaching halfway around. "I... kind of like it."

At that, Tomura grins. He turns, lowers you down onto his bed. "Why's that?"

Shyness makes you duck your head from his knowing gaze. "You're... even stronger now."

His lips meet the corner of your jaw, nip once there before he hums a "Mhm?" The slow process of his mouth moving down your throat is his only cue to keep talking.

"Makes me feel small." He sucks a hickey over your collar bone, lazily rolls his hips down against you. Your hands find his sides, find obliques where you should feel each notch of his ribcage. "Like you could hold me down..."

Against your skin you feel his lips separate into a lopsided grin. It's all you had to say; in a split second he rips your palms from his sides, press them down into the sheets- and you're acutely aware of just how little of his power he's using. He could snap your bones like twigs now, leave you completely broken and not break a sweat and-

He rolls his hips again. You moan weakly, grind against him as best you can. "Please, Tomura."

He groans low in his throat, "Mmm, I love it when you beg." His hands leave yours while he sits back on his heels to peel off his shirt, reveals the freshly regenerated skin and flesh you'd seen mending. "It's not just my shoulders that got bigger." Your gaze drifts down- and settles over the tent in his pants. He cups it with his intact right hand, squeezes it just because he can- and the gears in your head grind to a halt. He was big enough before, never left you longing for more- built much like him, slender and long with a pleasant curve to stroke at the sensitive place along your front wall. But that.

He hooks his thumb into the waistband of his pants, pushes the elastic down with the heels of his palms- and your pussy clenches, a tremor of both fear and anticipation for how much he'll stretch you out. Fuck, he’s going to ruin you.

Like the rest of his body, his cock has thickened in his time away, now so girthy and heavy it can hardly lift up on its own. The curve is still there- and Tomura strokes it with one hand, showing its weight as it twitches, a shiny, milky drip of precum oozing from the pink tip.

He really could break you.

You're kicking your pants off without another word, letting your drooling mouth and shaking hands do all the talking. Tomura starts to touch you, to slide a hand between your legs- you only let him slot two fingers in before you're grabbing at his shoulders again, begging, "I want to feel you."

A heat burns in his eyes, "It'll hurt." It's as much a plea as it is a warning.

You nod, squeeze his arms. "I want to feel it."

Tomura groans low in his throat, bites at your shoulder just because it’s there. “Tell me.” He starts as he lets the heft of his cock slide between your legs. Soft thrusts make the underside slick with your arousal- body already preparing for the inhuman length about to split you. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

It’s your turn to teasingly grin, to innocently lace your fingers behind his neck. “Tomura Shigaraki, you’ve gone soft.”

Tomura scowls- and in half a blink has your wrists pinned with one hand, the other at your hip. “Nothing soft about me.”

The head presses against you- and Tomura never has lied to you before. Your body resists as much as you want to relax, to let your legs fall open- and with a sharp inhale and a pinch- and it stings and you're so full. So close with him, his broad form above you blocking out everything else in the world- and just as your awareness narrows down to his dick slowly working its way deeper inside you, spreading that delicious stretch and fullness all the way down- he starts talking again. "Thought about this- about you." Tomura sets his jaw, seethes through his teeth. "Every fucking day."

Against the mattress your arms flex, desperate to grab at him, to sink your nails into his back and hold on- but his weight is still on your wrists, keeps you captive. All you can do is tuck your legs up against his sides and chant, absolutely mindless, "Tomura, Tomura-"

"You feel so fucking tight now." He groans- and you both hiss in tandem as he withdraws, the friction so severe. Even with the excess of wetness, it takes a few moments of awkward half-thrusts before he can move comfortably- gliding in and out with slick noises.

His thumb finds your clit and all rational thought drains from your head. All that remains is the steady pace of his hips, the pressure of his cock inside you, stretching you all the way down until he's notched up against your cervix, and the soft rasp of his voice. "You're close." He murmurs, half amazed. You can only nod, let nonsense spill from your lips as his thumb speeds up, strokes harder- and he knows before you do. "Cum for me."

You grab at him with your finally freed arms and hold on, dig your nails in to his skin as the only thing to keep you sane as you tip over the edge. His thumb doesn't falter, keeps perfect pace as your hips twitch up against him and his thrusts turn shallow as you clench so hard you must be hurting him. If he has any complaints he doesn't voice them, only stares down at you in open-mouthed wonder while you gasp and writhe and soak his cock in your arousal.

Only when you're whimpering and pawing at his arm does he soften and slow his cruel kneads of your swollen clit. Tomura stops, lets you catch your breath, strokes the sides of your face as you meander back to your body. At least until you notice the too-wide peculiar lilt of his lips, too much teeth to be the serene smile of a lover proud of making his paramour come undone. Words haven't quite come back to you, so you tap at the corner of his jaw and Tomura is all too happy to explain.

"Think Ujiko's surgery did more to me than I thought." Worry nearly sobers you, but before you can curse the creepy old man Tomura's hips roll again. You gasp, glance down between your bodies. While he'd never left you unsatisfied, raw stamina had never been one of his strong suits- too sensitive and enthusiastic to last much longer than making you scream his name. His hips roll again, begin to ease open your post-orgasm tightness. "I'm not even close." He leans in close, lowers himself down onto his forearms. His weight hovers right over you, the heat of his body making sweat bead across your skin- and his lips brush against the shell of your ear. "Might even take all night."

=====

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[divinefireangel]

You are my Honey and my Forever Moon

SF9 Inseong x Wife! Reader Fluffy Smut.

ADORABABY ADORABABY ADORABABY ADORABABY ADORABABY ADORABABY

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Author's Note: I finally got to finishing this request!! 🥳 Not gonna lie I kinda like this one lol. I have a free day tomorrow so let's hope I post tomorrow as well🤞

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: 18+ ages and female readers (nothing specified with respect to appearance, etc of reader). Tbh all can read it. Soft sex. Unprotected sex (just don't do this unless you want kids). Probably slow burn I'm not sure. Sexy but soft Inseong 😂. Lmk if I need to add more! Italics is flashback.

Requested: YES. By our fav @inseongsfoxybae

Hey, babe Sush 🥰🥰🥰 Can I request something?

Would you mind writing a honeymoon scenario with Seongie? Smuty and with a lot of softness at the same time 👉🏻👈🏻

Oh babe I hope you like it and that this makes your day a lil better 💞❣

1.8k Words

Staring down at your left ring finger, you traced the new golden band that your finger adorned. Smiling, you remember the moment that changed your life forever. Finally, you were each other's happily ever after. How did you get so lucky to have Kim Inseong fall in love with you, you'll never know. But what you do know, is that there is no one in the world whom you can love as much as him.

You remember the look he gave you just before you got wedded, standing opposite you holding your hands in his, that always fit together like a puzzle, the moment in which you knew, there is no one who will love you as much as him. Seeing his love filled expression, reminded you of every single time he looked at you like that. The first time he saw you on your first date, the first time he saw you all glamed up, the first time he saw your natural perfections, the first time he saw you naked, the first time he kissed you, the first time he smiled at you, the first time he smiled because of you, the first time you made him laugh, the first time he saw you laugh, the first time he saw you dance your little happy dance because you got your favourite food, the first time you told him you loved him, the first time you held him when he cried, the first time you let him sleep on top of you after a long day and the first time he realized you were the one he was looking for his entire life.

And since all those firsts, he's looked at you the same way. Because he doesn't know how else to look at you. You, his soulmate, his eternal love, his forever and forevermore.

Gathering the crowd's attention, the officiate began the ceremony.

"Dearly beloved, we are present here, to experience the blessed union of Ms. Y/N L/N and Mr. Kim Inseong. As I start, I have a passage to read, written by me, about falling in love.

When you hear the word falling, it's generally assumed to be a neutral word. No one prefers to fall willingly. But falling in love, is one of the purest ways to use the word falling. Not a single person is scared of falling like this. Falling from a height of course is scary for most." The crowd laughs at this remark. Smiling, the officiate continued.

"Well now really when we go back then to falling in love. And say it's crazy. We don't say rising into love. The moment you enter any kind of human undertaking relationship, you've given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done. Surrender, you see. And love, is an act of surrender to another person. I give myself to you.

These two young people standing here, in front of each other, have surrendered themselves to one another, creating a strong bond, and I pray, that it only gets stronger with time." Staring into each other's teary yet love filled eyes, Y/N and Inseong slipped on a band on their ring fingers to indicate their eternal love.

"What are you thinking about my love? " Handing you a glass of champagne, your husband asked you.

"Just..... Us. "

"Us? " He questions chuckling, sitting next to you on the couch in your hotel room, which is rented for your honeymoon.

Humming a yes, you lean in to kiss him. Meeting you halfway, Inseong attached your lips together, as a hand stroked your hair.

"Don't you want to change into your nightwear? " Tilting your head innocently, you looked at your husband in curiosity.

"I kinda have other plans." He said sheepishly grinning at your confused demeanour. Placing the two identical glasses on a table nearby, Inseong grabs your face gently with both his hands, connecting your lips again.

Carefully he moves his hands to your hair, trying to find for things that may hurt you when you laid down on the bed. Removing the U pins from your hairbun, he slowly lets your hair down. Breaking the kiss completely, staring at your with a soft smile, warming your heart, he moves to remove your earrings and other jewelry.

Chewing in anticipation on your bottom lip, you lift your fingers to unbutton the buttons of his dress shirt. This action isn't something foreign to either of you, having done this multiple times before in the past. But this time, today, right now, is just more softer, more intimate.

By the time you finish his dress shirt, he's already pulled down the zipper of your dress.

Admiring you again, he moves his hand to the side of your face, slowly pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Moving the same hand to the back of your head, he tilts your head up, engulfing your lips again in a needy kiss. A kiss of this type from him never fails to make you lose balance, lose your sense of presence of mind and makes you aroused enough to close your eyes as a your lower abdomen starts heating up for attention.

Breathing into each other, you stand up taking his hand and pull him towards the bed, stopping at its foot. Slowly you slide off him shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall on the floor. Looking up at him through your lashes, you bite your lower lip, as you feel yourself getting wetter by the minute. How can you not be wet when you have such a sexy husband? Smirking a little, Inseong traces your skin from your neck to your shoulders to your back, gliding your dress down near his shirt. Taking your delicate hands in his, he gazes down your body, the tent forming in his pants approving your pretty lingerie. How did he get so lucky to have found you. You goddess of a being, so in love with him, a mere man who worships you more than anything.

Placing your hands around his neck, he leans down to kiss your lush lips, as his hands go down your body, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra, and settling on your waist for a moment, before going down to reach the back of your thighs. Lifting you up without breaking the kiss, Inseong kneels on the bed as your legs wrap around him in instinct. Laying you down lovingly on the bed, your husband looks into your eyes, with that sweet look of his. For him although, he feels like he is looking at you for the first time ever, starting from your forehead to the distance between your eyebrows, to your cute nose and to your parted lips, waiting to be kissed again.

Swallowing in the sight below, his lips find themselves at the base of your jaw. Sucking there lightly, Inseong rolls his hips such that his clothed length rubs against your core. Even with so many layers you could feel the outline of his dick. Kissing down till your neck and collarbone, he continues to grind into you, groaning when he feels your nails scratch his back.

Gasping at a sudden forceful thrust, you wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Detaching his lips from your body, he sits on his knees, looking down at your, enjoying the view of you in your loving needy state. Making eye contact, he unbuckles his belt removing it sexily, followed by his pants and boxers. Placing his hands on your bent knees, he moves his torso up as his hands glide freely from your knees through the top of your thighs, coming to a still on your hips.

Leaning down, Inseong kisses your lips again, as his fingertips trace the upper elastic of your panties. Grabbing ahold of them, he peels your panties down your legs and throws it to the side. One of his hands comes next to your head to support himself up as he stays close to you, kissing till you run out of air in your lungs, while the other takes liberty to part your folds.

Sighing into your mouth, he spreads your wetness from your entrance to your clit, giving it a few strokes to stimulate you more. Moaning into the kiss, you silently beg for more, wanting more, more of him in you, taking you to paradise.

Removing his fingers from your folds, he breaks the kiss just to rile you up more by sucking them as his eyes never left yours. Biting your lip you look at him with pleading eyes. Dropping his cockiness at your cuteness, he slowly guides the head of his cock to your entrance, nudging it in little by little, letting you get used to his size. Pecking your forehead repeatedly Inseong bottoms out into you. Stilling for a moment, he takes your hand in his free hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles.

Melting at this sweet gesture, you intertwine your fingers together, as your eyes close overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock starting to move back and forth, in and out of you slowly. Petting your hair with the hand that's next to your head, Inseong joins your lips again, but only for a small kiss. He then proceeds to kiss your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrows, your eyelids, your chin, your jaw, your forehead and back to your lips, all while rutting his pelvis against yours in a loving pace.

This isn't the first time he's made love to you. He's done that multiple times and more. But now, you are his wife and he wants nothing but to take care of you and your burdens and to keep you happy. He wants to spoil you in every way possible. He wants you fulfilled to the maximum extent, and he will do anything for you and your future together to be as perfect as possible.

Moaning his name, when you feel yourself coming closer to the edge, you clench your walls around him. Shuddering in response, he increases his pace to help you both have a blissful orgasm. Nuzzling his nose against yours, he squeezes your intertwined fingers looking back up into your eyes, wordlessly conveying that he is close. So so close to you.

"I love you" He whispers roughly, feeling his release approaching.

"I love you too" You gasp as you tighten your legs around him, clenching your walls as you come undone below your lover. Repeating your name as if it's the only word he knows, Inseong comes down slowly from his high, falling on top of you as slowly as he can.

Pressing your foreheads together, you catch your breath, hugging each other. Setting his head in between your shoulder and neck, Inseong starts to feel drowsy. How cute, you think fondly as you wrap your arms securely around you lover, your husband, playing with his hair as he drifts to sleep with you in his arms, and you following him soon after.

[noctuaas]

ON THE DOWN LOW

synopsis; you share a dirty little secret with your host family’s son.

pairing; tendou satori x reader

content; nsfw/smut, fem!reader, friends with benefits, clothed sex, morning sex, don’t get caught

word count; 1.8k

At this rate, you were going to be late for school. Wouldn’t that look great; the one foreign exchange student in your homeroom stumbling into class long after the bell, out of breath with her hair mussed up and skirt wrinkled. You could only pray that no one on the school board would choose to call up your host family and tell them that not only was the exchange student they were housing tardy this morning, but their son was as well.

 You couldn’t exactly blame Tendou for initiating this at such an unusual time. He saw an opportunity, and he pounced on it, simple as that. With his mother out of town and his father already gone for an early morning business meeting, you honestly weren’t even surprised that he spent the morning spouting off flirtatious comments; only that it led to this.

“You’re not gonna have time for breakfast,” you panted down at him.

“What do you mean?” Tendou finally pulled away from the home he had found between your legs. His eyes travelled up to meet your own, and you knew from personal experience that your clothes were the only thing stopping his gaze from taking a detour across your body. “This is my breakfast.” 

“I think most people would rather have breakfast in bed,” you joked back. Risking a glance at the clock on the microwave, you saw there was less than 30 minutes until class started.

“I figured eating at the counter was quicker,” he chuckled deviously. Tendou mirrored your glance, quickly evaluating his options before slowly beginning to rise to his feet. The light caught your slick smeared across his lips, glinting tauntingly before getting drug under his tongue. He was never one to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. Instead, he licked everything away, savoring your taste, like he was on death row and you really were his last meal. 

As he rose to your level, you pushed up from where you were leaning back on the countertop and met his lips halfway. The redhead’s tongue was against yours immediately, insisting you taste yourself in his mouth.

 It was almost intoxicating, only fueled by the feeling of Tendou’s clothed erection pressing against your bare sex. You couldn’t resist the whine that seeped between your lips when his fingers clawed at your hips, pulling you ever closer. 

Time was of the essence here, and at this point you were becoming needy. The hand that had found its way into his hair rerouted to slip down to his waistband, but you were interrupted.

“You should ask nicely,” Tendou intercepted your fingers at his belt, barring you from entrance.

“You started it,” you scoffed like a petty little kid.

Tendou didn’t move an inch. Those scarlet eyes of his bore into you, and you tried to stare back, but your resolve was no match to his. “Please,” you finally murmured, fingers nudging his belt buckle once more. His devious grin stretched wider at your submission.

He had the tip of his cock pressing into you faster than you had ever seen. There was no undressing; the only thing tossed away was his belt, which joined your previously discarded underwear on the tile floor with a clank; the slacks of his uniform were shoved down just below his ass cheeks, barely far enough to free himself.

The feeling of Tendou filling you made you let out a long sigh, like he was finally relieving a persistent ache. Instinctually, your legs hiked higher up his sides, pulling him deeper, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was already sliding himself back out, you’d have crossed your ankles to keep him close.

Tendou found a rhythm quickly. It started out slow, focused more on technique and allowing himself to kiss and tug at your lips before moving to lap at your throat hungrily; if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say it was sensual. It didn’t last long though, each thrust increasing with speed until he was driving into you at the rapid pace you expected from this race against time.

“Fuck, kitten, you feel so good,” Tendou groaned into the crook of your neck. The pet name sent tingles through your skin, crawling down your body until it settled like fire in your lower gut. The only response you gave was the flex of your fingers, nails digging into his shoulders and grasping at his shirt.

The force of his thrusts caused you to let out little mewls and moans in huffs, breath escaping your lungs with every slam of his hips against yours. Tendou had to hook an arm under your knee and grab onto your thigh to keep you flush with the edge of the counter. Though his palm was cold to the touch, you swore your skin burned under the calloused pads of his fingers.

Combined with the tightening internal coil from Tendou’s actions, the burning of your abs as you tried to hold yourself upright was becoming too much to handle. Pulling away from Tendou’s face, you placed your hands behind you so you could lean back and brace against them. You were just beginning to sink back onto your elbows when the sound of the door to the utility room crashing open jolted you from your bliss.

Shooting back upright, a yelp of surprise nearly escaped you, but Tendou’s hand was clamped over your mouth in an instant. You both stared at each other, wide-eyed and frozen in place, as footsteps echoed from the utility room. It was only separated from the kitchen by a small, open archway.

When a voice grumbled out something about ‘forgot my briefcase,’ you instantly recognized it as Tendou’s father.

Step, step, step.

The sound of his heavy footfalls seemed to retreat further into the laundry room, but you knew he still couldn’t be more than 10 feet away. Tendou craned his neck back, trying to peek further past the doorway, before turning back to you with that mischievous smirk of his.

“Shhh,” he whispered almost inaudibly, letting go of your leg and placing a finger over his lips. You didn’t even have time to wonder what he was up to before he was pushing himself back into you, slowly, as if testing the waters.

 The pleasant pressure was minor enough to ignore, and the only response you gave was a worried glance past Tendou’s shoulder at the doorway. You could still hear the shuffling of movement across the wall.

Displeased by your lack of reaction, Tendou took the hand that wasn’t covering your mouth and brought it down between your hips. His thumb dipped around where you two were connected, collecting your juices so that when he moved it up to rub your clit, it glided over it without unwanted friction.

Now, that got your attention. Your stomach tensed and you huffed into his fingers, which only led Tendou to tighten his grip on your face; his hand was firm enough that not a lick of air would escape your mouth, but just barely gentle enough that no marks would be left.

His thumb brushed against your clit in every direction until he found the perfect mix of pressure and angle that made your hips buck and eyes roll into fluttering eyelids. As soon as he discovered this, he repeated the motion, but this time snapped his hips into you as well.

Oh, how badly you wanted to gasp and whine and moan his name, but instead you choked on your own voice and forced it back into your chest.

If we get caught, you thought, I’m so getting kicked out of the exchange program.

You hated to admit it, but the idea was kind of thrilling. It was like throwing lighter fluid on the fire in your belly.

Every time the roll of Tendou’s hips lined up perfectly with the way he thumbed your clit, white hot electricity seared through your lower abdomen. He was hitting that spot more and more, and the heat was pooling now. You grabbed onto his wrist, the one at your face, and squeezed sharply; you were trying to channel every urge to cry out into the aching grip you had on his arm.

The coil in your gut was seconds from snapping, and you could tell Tendou was in a similar boat; his jaw was clenched and his eyes half lidded. You begged him with your eyes, silently told him how badly you wanted to cum. 

Through both your hazes, the sound of a briefcase clicking closed broke in. It was quiet, barely louder than a pin drop, yet somehow felt as loud as a gun firing next to your ear.  Tendou’s head lifted slightly in realization, then he gave you a hasty nod of encouragement.

Creeeaaaaakkk, slam!

As soon as his father was gone, Tendou was mumbling, “Come for me, baby girl, come on.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. You were already falling over the edge, the pleasure rolling from your core out to your finger and toe tips before rolling back again. He finally broke his hand away from your face, and you gasped for air, gasped his name, gasped until your lungs couldn't take any more. Your heels dug into his back, pressed into his spine like you might be able to collapse into him.

You didn’t know exactly how long it took for Tendou to finish behind you. You were coming down from your high and the next thing you knew, he had his cock in his hand and he was spilling out all over your thighs.

Both of you heaved until your breathing evened out, foreheads pressed together. At long last, Tendou broke the silence with a chuckle, and you couldn’t resist laughing as well.

When he peeled away from you to grab a dish towel and clean you up, your skin stuck together from the sticky sheen of sweat. You were lucky he managed to not get anything on your skirt.

“You’re in big trouble,” you said as he placed his routine post-sex kiss on your cheek.

“Why—” he babbled incredulously, “What for?”

“Because,” you glanced at the clock, “We have less than 15 minutes to get to class.”

“Shit!” Tendou scrambled to pull himself together, hastily running about as he shoved his dick back in his pants. You followed suit, jumping off the counter and grabbing your underwear. You tugged them on with about as much coordination as you could while hopping down the hall to get your backpack and shoes. You were both running around like bats out of hell, cackling with laughter by the time you were out the door.

You ran the whole way to school. At least it was a reasonable explanation for why you looked sweaty enough to have just had a sex marathon.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 6 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: It’s an Avs Gameday...you know what that means...Cale time. I wasn’t going to post this until I had finished part 7 (which I’ve been struggling to focus on for what a week now...) but I just finished that so there’s really no reason for me not to post this part. Keep your eyes peeled for a poll type post in a few hours because I need suggestions of things/places/situations moving forward for these two. Also pictures of the house will be post immediately after this one and will be tagged ‘038′ if anyone needs visual imagery to go along with this chapter. 

Warnings: smut, language, angst?

Word Count: 3,836

~~~~

As much as you’d been filled with a small sense of dread to arrive in Denver, that same feeling settled deep in your stomach as you climbed on the plane to leave. You’d woken to the feeling of Cale’s lips on your neck and his hand on your stomach under the fabric of your shirt. Though it wasn’t something you were used to...you knew that you could quickly get used to it, no question. 

Cale had refused to say goodbye, only ‘I’ll see you soon’ as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. Though leaving was hard, navigating through whatever this was while hundreds of miles apart was something you were determined to do and so Facetimes and phone calls became a much more frequent companion. With a countdown timer on your phone tracking the absolute last possible day Cale would be home for the summer you attempted not to dwell on the questions you had, choosing instead to just take things a day at a time. 

Taking things a day at a time had led you to this point. Boxes upon boxes were scattered around you here in the living room and everywhere else. For the first time all day, you were standing listening as silence filled the air around you as you took in your new home. After years of saving for this day and months of thinking about it, you were finally a homeowner and you couldn’t be more excited. To make things even better, Cale was due to fly in tomorrow after being eliminated from playoffs. You couldn’t wait to hug him, to show him this place, to feel his lips on yours once more. 

As you debated whether to dig into another box or order dinner, there was a sharp knock at your door. Figuring one of your neighbors had seen you moving in and had stopped by to introduce themselves you headed to the front door, throwing it open. 

Immediately a shriek left your throat and you threw your body forward toward your unexpected guest. A pair of strong hands caught your hips and a low male chuckle reached your ears. Tilting your head, you latched your lips onto his, pulling away after a moment to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“What are you doing here? Your flight isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow!”  Your eyes raked over Cale’s body as he held you close, observing the toll playoffs had taken on him. He seemed thinner than you remembered and a cut below his eye was in the later stages of healing, but that was just what you could see on a cursory examination. You were sure there were other bruises and wounds that hadn’t been revealed to you yet. 

“Are you going to let me in?” Cale chirped. “Or do I only get to see the curb appeal of this new place of yours?” Stepping aside, you watched Cale carry in two big bags along with his carry-on, one of the larger bags clearly full of his equipment. He set them off to the side of the entry toward the living room as you closed the door behind him. The moment his hands were free, you stepped into him once more, your palms settling against his chest. 

“Are you going to answer me? What are you doing here?” Cale’s smirk grew as he ducked his head to kiss you again, but it quickly turned into a pout when you pulled away, awaiting an answer. 

“I flew in early okay. So that I could see you.” Your cheeks warmed slightly and you let him sneak a quick kiss before staring at him for a more detailed explanation. “I knew my mom would be all over me when I got home and I just wanted some time with you without being asked a million questions. So I took an earlier flight. I’ll either take an uber home tomorrow or maybe I can say you picked me up.” His eyes were almost pleading as he suggested you give him a ride home tomorrow and you sighed rolling your eyes at him. 

“We’ll see if you earn that privilege or if I’m gonna make you suffer another uber ride.” You joked. “And just an FYI you only missed your parents by like fifteen minutes so your plan almost backfired on you big time.” 

“But it didn’t now, did it?” Cale whispered sharply, his eyes dark. “Now...are we past the pleasantries? Can I kiss you like I’ve been dying to since you left?” Left breathless by the way he was looking at you, you simply nodded pressing up onto your toes to meet him halfway. His hands tangled in your hair and he deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue into your mouth in a fight for dominance. 

It had been so hard to stop things from progressing that night on his couch, and the need you felt now was exponentially greater. As one of his hands dropped to slip under the back of the ratty tank you were wearing you realized that you didn’t want him to stop. 

“Cale…” You moaned, desire pooling in your core. Your nails scraped over the back of his neck and he grunted in response, twisting to push you back against your new front door. The press of his body against yours had you tossing your head back against the wood and you gasped his name again as his lips grazed over your neck. 

“Yeah, sunshine...you know how much I missed you?” He mumbled, his words muffled by your skin. “Did my girl miss me too?” Cale had called you every form of friend from best friend to childhood friend to closest friend before but hearing him call you his girl was new and that simple possessive phrase made you need him all the more. 

His hands slipped under your thighs to leverage your legs up and around his waist before they landed on your ass, holding your body steady against his own. 

“I’m hoping you at least have a mattress lying around somewhere?” He questioned, pausing every few words to kiss you again. “Or am I fucking you right here?” Your body shuddered in response, a needy moan spilling forth once more. 

“End of the hall.” You directed. “Though I can’t say I’m opposed to the latter option.” You added, rolling your hips against his abdomen. 

“Noted.” Cale groaned, shifting away from the door to head down the hall. You tucked your head into Cale’s neck, peppering kisses along his skin so that he could see over you and not trip on the scattered boxes. When he reached the bed, he dropped you onto it gently, quickly tugging his t-shirt over his head before joining you. 

“Can I?” He questioned, his hands beginning to tug at the material of your tank. 

“I’m all yours.” You assured him, lifting your arms to make his job easier. You giggled at him as he struggled to unclasp your bra but just moved to assist him, your lips seeking his out as you were pressed chest to chest for the first time. “Cale please…” You whimpered, needing more of everything: his touch, his kiss, the weight of him between your thighs. 

For a moment there was a flicker of hesitation in his blue eyes, but then it was gone and his fingers were fumbling with the button and zipper of your denim shorts. Sliding your own hands down his chest, you reached to release him as well, your hand grazing against his hardened length. 

“Y/N,” Cale warned, his voice gruff and you smiled, repeating the action with purpose, feeling him twitch against your palm. He shifted backward as he tugged your shorts and underwear off of your body and then he paused, his eyes taking in the sight of you bare for him for the first time. His cheeks grew rosy, but he quickly returned his body to its spot over yours, kissing you deeply. 

“You’re so sexy.” He breathed, his free hand starting to wander up and down your curves. 

“And you’re overdressed.” You chastised, still working to remove his remaining clothing to even the playing field. When he finally gave in and pushed the fabric off his hips, you gasped at the sight of him, hard and heavy against his stomach. You’d never felt as needy for someone as you felt for him right now and you were certain it showed in your body’s reactions. 

Kissing him once more, you felt his hands ghost over your skin, teasing softly. Nipping his lip lightly, you scraped your nails over his lower back. 

“Cale. I swear to god we have all the time in the world to experiment with whatever foreplay you want later...but if you don’t fuck me now I’m going to lose my mind.” You moaned, pressing your hips up against him in search of friction. 

Cale pulled away and for a moment you wanted to curse him until you realized he was grabbing a condom from his wallet. Taking it from him, you carefully tore the foil package open before rolling the condom over him. Cale then hovered over you again, his eyes almost cobalt blue and you watched his chest heave in anticipation. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. While you appreciated his need for consent, you’d thought your previous statement signaled exactly what you wanted. A short chuckle fell from his mouth at the exasperated look on your face and he shook his head, reaching down to line himself up with where you needed him. “Forget I asked.” He mumbled, kissing you hard as he pressed forward, burying himself inside you. 

Gasping, your body stretched around him and when you rolled your hips against his, he took that as his signal to move. Though you had expected that there might be some stumbles as you explored a physical relationship, Cale was incredibly good at reading your body language. He was quick to find an angle that hit all the right spots and it didn’t take much longer for him to settle into a rhythm that had you clinging to him as pleasure crept up on you. 

It was fast, it was needy, it was not the gentle sex a part of you had expected your first time with him would be. But it was good, god was it good. As much as you tried not to leave marks, you were certain your nails were leaving scratches all over Cale’s back and shoulders. At the same time, you knew you’d have marks from Cale’s mouth on your chest, his hands on your hips. 

As the knot in your stomach tightened, signaling your orgasm was near, Cale’s hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers rubbing over your swollen clit. 

“Oh Fuck.” You moaned, your toes curling as you worked to meet him thrust for thrust. It was right there, so close. 

“That’s my girl...come on…” Cale’s voice was strained as he gasped against your lips, his hips starting to stutter as his own orgasm approached. Hearing him call you his for the second time today caused your brain to short out and suddenly you felt your release crash over you leaving you warm and relaxed, your muscles syrupy as you finished spasming around him. Cale’s grunts reached your ears as he too achieved release and you winced as he carefully slipped out of you. 

As your breathing started to settle, Cale mumbled something about trash and you replied that there was a bag hanging over a broom in the kitchen. The bed shifted as he retreated, and then again as he settled back in beside you, his fingers turning your head so he could kiss you. 

“You okay?” He whispered, thumb brushing against your cheek. 

“Of course…” You assured him. “That was…” There were so many words you could use to describe it but none seemed to convey exactly what you wanted it to. 

“What sex should feel like.” Cale finished your thought for you and you nodded, though his statement made you think about how he hadn’t had much sex with his ex. Trailing your fingers down his chest, you propped yourself up a little to look at him. 

“It wasn’t like that with her?” The question escaped without running through your normal filters and though Cale tensed for a moment he eventually looked back at you, expression soft. 

“No.” He sighed. “It wasn’t. I..I don’t know how to explain it but there’s no comparison. I...I didn’t know what really good sex is supposed to feel like until just now.” As you thought about your previous sexual encounters you couldn’t help but agree. There was no comparison between what you’d experienced with them and what you’d just experienced with Cale. 

“Hmm...guess it’s a good thing we have plenty of time for more ‘really good sex’.” You grinned. “All night in fact.” Cale’s cheeks which had started to settle flushed right back up and you couldn’t help but laugh at his expense. 

“Except that was my only condom.” He mumbled, rubbing his face. 

“Guess it’s a good thing I have a brand new box somewhere in one of these bathroom boxes.” You insisted. Before you could tease Cale anymore, your stomach let out a long growl and it was your cheeks turn to heat up. Eyes filled with mirth, Cale kissed you gently before moving to climb out of bed. 

“How about we order some dinner, you can give me a tour of this house, and then we can talk about revisiting that idea.” He suggested, picking up your clothes and tossing them across the bed to you. When you didn’t immediately reach for the clothes, his gaze fell to you again, concern crossing his features. 

“Can you uh...maybe dig through one of those boxes and see if you can find me a rag to clean up?” You requested, your thighs and core still slick with arousal. Cale’s eyes went wide and he immediately turned to the stack of boxes in the corner. 

“Shit uh...just give me a minute.” He insisted, and you watched as he dug through them seemingly coming up empty. Instead of ransacking them further, he just tossed you his shirt from the floor beside him. 

“Cale I know I have rags…” You insisted, not wanting to dirty his shirt. 

“And I have other shirts.” He replied, a smirk on his face. “And I actually know exactly where they are.” He added. “I’m sure you’ve got a washing machine here somewhere...it’s fine, use it.” 

Accepting his shirt, you used it to wipe yourself down before throwing back on your dirty clothes. Clearly, the first thing you needed to do was unpack the bathroom boxes. Once you were redressed you leaned up to kiss him gently, your hands trailing lightly over his naked back. 

“Thank you.” You hummed, pulling away with a swing of your hips that made Cale groan. Tossing his shirt on the stairs to the basement, you moved through the living room to where Cale was tugging a shirt over his head in the hallway. Hugging him again, just because you could, you tucked your body against his as he wrapped his arms around you in return. After a few minutes of just enjoying being in each other’s space, you agreed on dinner and Cale placed an order for delivery. 

While you waited for food, you unpacked another couple boxes, finding the towels and rags in a box in the main bathroom instead of one off the master. It made sense since, for some reason, the master bath was only a sink and toilet and the shower was in the main bathroom, you just hadn’t thought about it when you’d asked for a rag. Hanging a couple of bath towels up in the main bathroom, you divided the hand towels and rags between the two before tucking any of the excess linens into the linen closet. Finding the box of condoms amongst your razors and feminine hygiene products, you tossed the box to Cale suggesting he move it to one of the nightstand drawers. He stayed, hovered over your shoulder for a moment and you watched him open the box through the reflection in the mirror. Reaching around you, he tucked two or three condoms into the vanity drawer before disappearing back into the master bedroom. 

You were collapsing the now empty box when he’d returned and his arms snuck around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Having them in the bedroom wasn’t good enough?” You teased, the sound shifting to a squeal as Cale spun you around. 

“You know...in case we decide to test out this shower at some point.” He admitted, stealing a kiss before pulling away at the sound of a knock on the front door. Your stomach swooped at his words and by the time you pulled yourself together he was walking by with your dinner. 

Since the inside of the house was still a complete mess, it was clear that Cale had decided to eat outside because you found him lounging on your back patio, his back resting against the house. 

“You are...you’re something else, Cale…” You murmured as you moved to sit next to him. “I’m learning a whole different side of you and it’s...kinda sexy. It’s throwing me but I like it.” Bumping your shoulder against his side, you took the container of food he handed you, digging in. You hadn’t eaten all day so this was exactly what you needed after the labor of moving and unpacking and then the unexpected physical activities. 

Dinner was enjoyed with only the sounds of birds chirping as background. When Cale finished, he set his trash aside and dropped his hand to your knee looking around. 

“Why do I get the feeling this yard was a main factor in you picking this house?” He waited until you had finished eating as well to ask the question. Tucked into his side you laced your fingers with his before responding. 

“Because it was and you seem to know me fairly well.” You murmured. 

“Tell me more. Show me this place through your eyes.” Cale whispered, his eyes soft and filled with so much affection that it nearly left you breathless again. 

“Well...I mean you know what Calgary is like…” You started. “Finding a property that has a decent-sized yard is no easy task.” Cale nodded in agreement and you took a deep breath before continuing. “And I don’t know...I walked out here for the first time and immediately thought of throwing Canada Day parties for family and friends.”

When you paused again, Cale knew there was more to it than that and he nudged your side. 

“C’mon sunshine...you know you can tell me anything.” Cale urged, tilting your head up to his for a moment. “You’re not going to scare me away if that’s what you’re thinking…” Your eyes must have given you away because Cale turned to face you better, his expression turning serious. “Y/N...I’m in this okay. I want you. I want to be with you. There is practically nothing you could say that would make me walk away. Okay?” You couldn’t help but nod in response to him, even if your stomach was twisting at the vulnerability required to tell him everything he wanted to know. 

“I don’t know. I guess deep down every house I looked at, I was looking for a yard big enough to make a small rink in.” You admitted, motioning to the long corner of the yard. “I can picture that going over there.” You explained. “And then there’s still room for training equipment or I don’t know…” You murmured. The moment you stepped into this house it was hard not to see Cale everywhere, to imagine how a life with him would fit here even as just a summer residence. 

Taking your hand, Cale led you back inside, tossing your containers into the trash before guiding you to the living room. 

“Keep going.” He murmured, his arms wrapping around you. 

“I fell in love with this room in general.” You breathed. “The big bay window, the gas fireplace, the built-in bookshelf.” There were so many charms that you couldn’t not love it, even if the shape made placing furniture a little awkward. “And I mean there are little changes I’d like to make, fix the different floorings so they all match, maybe change the facade of the fireplace because the height feels a little too much...but for now it works and I still love it.” 

Guiding him through the living room toward the kitchen you paused for just a moment. “And I mean the kitchen is just gorgeous. Lots of counter space.” Turning toward the backdoor, you guided Cale downstairs, grabbing his dirty shirt to carry down to the laundry. At the bottom of the stairs, you paused again, giving Cale a moment to take in just how massive the finished basement was. 

“Sunshine,” Cale spoke softly, pulling your attention back from the wandering it had been doing. 

“I set foot down here and I...immediately I pictured a couple of kids running around, playing tag or whatever. And there’s just so much space...there are so many things that could be done down here.” You finished, weakly backtracking at the feeling of Cale’s gaze heavy upon you. 

After tossing his shirt into the laundry, you moved back upstairs and through the kitchen. “You already saw the master. Again big windows, big closet.” You paused again at the main bathroom. “I mean the shower is...speaks for itself really.” You shrugged. Pointing up at the front bedroom you murmured about it being a nice guest room and then finally you stopped in front of the last bedroom. 

“They had this one staged as an office…” You stated. “But uh…” Your throat got tight as you tried to speak and after a moment Cale’s hands were rubbing soothing patterns along the base of your spine. “I can’t help but picture it as a nursery…” You sighed, voice barely audible. You knew this was the one problem the age difference was likely to present. Cale was so young that kids likely weren’t even close to the front of his mind but although it was ticking slowly, you could hear your biological clock in the back of your mind. Except now it wasn’t just kids in general racing into your thoughts, it was Cale’s kids, making it so much harder to ignore. 

With Cale not responding, you ducked your head and moved to slip out of his arms, tears seeking to well up in your eyes. 

“So uh yeah...that’s everything.” You mumbled. Cale had said you couldn’t chase him away, but you feared you’d said just a little bit too much and had done just that, your heart breaking at the thought. 

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 2 (Jason Todd x Reader)

The dumbass that I am misspelled counselor in the last part. forgive me. Also reply below if you recognize the first scene from the one it’s inspired by in Victorious!

WORDS: 3473 WARNINGS: FLUFFY FLUFFY FLUFFYYYYYY

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

--------------------

“E-excuse me, Y/N?”

A scared little voice. One you’d easily miss if you had been listening to anything more interesting, or if Ms. Peterson allowed you to wear earphones while you worked. But the voice was right there, coming from right behind you. You turned around with your brows scrunched up to the center of your forehead.

“Uhm, I’m Jake. From Math C-class.”

The boy was visibly shaking. You kept looking at him, making sure he knew his presence was an annoyance while you had a whole cart of yellowing books for you to go through. Jake gulped. “You uhm. Borrowed my notes.”

You turned your head to the side, narrowing your eyes.

“Can I have them back please?”

Eyes widened. Nostrils flared. And not even after a split second, Jake started to back away. “I-I’m sorry. I meant uhm. You can keep them! Oh, fuck-“

He started to back away, your deathly glare locked onto him, but something stopped his back from going any further. Something much larger than he was. He turned around, craned his head up, and saw Jason Todd standing over him.

“J-Jason?!” The boy was practically going white by now. “Shit. Shit. I-I’m so sorry. I’ll go now.”

“Wait. Here.”

And he held out his hand, which was holding a dark red notebook. Jake instantly froze, looking at Jason’s calm expression, then at you. You were no longer looking at Jake. Your eyes were locked on Jason. And you looked positively furious.

“Thank y-you.” Before he could catch your eye, he ran out of the library, clutching the notebook to his chest and violently pushing everyone in his way.

Your unwilling partner turned to you, then went back to pull out his cart. He came back up from a corner, with his own cart almost empty. Todd placed a book on the same shelf you were working.

“I WILL SLAM THE SPINES OF THESE BOOKS RIGHT INTO YOUR EYE SOCKETS UNTIL YOU BLEED OUT YOUR INTESTINES, TODD-”

A shush from the librarian’s desk that was blocked by the shelves in your way. You didn’t respond to the old woman. Your jaw was clenched, your sharp, black nails digging into the book covers. Jason calmly took the book away from you before you’d tear it apart.

“YOU WENT THROUGH MY FUCKING BAG.”

“I didn’t. You left it on the desk right over there. Didn’t think you’d care if I gave it back when you obviously didn’t need them anymore.”

“You know. Never mind these books. I’ll claw your eyes out with my bare hands.”

“You don’t have the strength or the will to do that.”

“I’ve done the same to someone else in eighth grade, you little shit. Watch me.”

Jason’s cart was empty by the time you finished that sentence. Instead of turning away, or even flinch in surprise, he folded his arms and looked down at you. “I know you think everyone in this fucking school bends to your every whim. But I have news for you, kid.”

He craned his head to near his face to yours. So close you could inhale his musky scent. You stood solid on your feet and didn’t do so much as back away. You looked at him dead in the eye.

“You don’t scare me.”

“You don’t know me just yet.”

Your voices were whispers. “You can try fuck all. I’ve seen much worse.”

And you could see the look of his eyes. There was no trace of fear or hesitance. He slowly backed away with a smirk when he saw you didn’t even have a snarky response to that. The glare you had on would’ve sent anyone else trembling. But all Jason did was pick up a book from your cart and placed it on a shelf you wouldn’t have otherwise reached.

“I’ll help you. You’re awfully slow at this.”

The amount of times your eyes rolled because of this kid’s response to you was astronomical. And it had only been a week working with him.

“Excuse me for not wanting to clean up after people.”

“Just do it. Faster.” He handed you a book, which you roughly snatched away from his hands with a loud grunt. You walked over to the other side of the shelf and placed it on an empty space. “You’re doing better. But you still put Conan Doyle’s in the True Crime shelf.”

“The what?”

“Conan Doyle. The detective books. God, you really should know about this stuff.”

“I fucking know about Sherlock Holmes, asshole.”

He picked up a pile of three books with a single large hand and placed it on the most bottom shelf. “Then why do I keep re-shelving your screw ups? This one goes there.” He hands you a book, and you quickly got it from him without giving him another glance.

“Whatever.”

“Let’s just go through the carts one by one. Together. It’s easier that way.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“You want our jobs to be easier? Or do you wanna spend another hour in this shithole?”

You angrily grabbed a book by its spine and shoved it into a tight shelf. You grabbed the cart, turning it to the opposite side of the shelf, to which he trailed close by. You almost hit him with the wheel of your cart, but Jason backed away in time. His glare was just as devious as yours just a minute ago, and you shrugged at him, smirking, before going back to work.

You continued to work in silence. Your cart was still halfway done, and you had another hour in the library before you were allowed to go home. Pursing your lips, focusing on the book covers, re-shelving the ones you were already familiar with and glancing at the pages of a few of them, you worked faster through your cart while Jason started with the shelf behind you.

The window was lighting up his face. And you hadn’t seen it earlier today until now. A new bruise was at his cheekbone, higher up than the one that got him sent to the office. It was darker and looked even more painful. Gotten himself in another fight, perhaps. But if that were the case, you’d have definitely heard about it. You went about the halls with your eyes peeled just to catch any sort of action you regretfully missed. Jason took more time with the books, skimming them before gently placing them back.

You picked up five chemistry books from the cart and walked over two shelves away so you could come back for the cart later. Placing them on the floor, you started to arrange the mess on the shelves, just as a girl came up behind you.

“Y/N?”

Penny’s sweet voice was enough to startle you. A friend. One of the few you’d actually hang out with. Even after just two months ago, you sent this poor girl crying to the counsellor’s office after you repeatedly called her an idiot while working on your partnered assignment.

“What?”

“Why are you arranging books?”

“Huh,” you cocked your hip. “Never realized I didn’t get to tell you.”

“What happened?”

You turned over to her, slamming the cover of the book flat against your palm. “VP’s attempt at a punishment after a week ago. Meet your fucking library assistant.”

“Wow,” she clutched at her books on her chest. “Is Jason Todd working with you as well?”

Your disgusted grunt didn’t even startle Penny. “Don’t get me started on that guy.”

“I saw the fight he was in. Did you?”

“No, but dammit I really fucking wanted to. What happened?”

You continued with your books, and Penny leaned against the shelf. “Don’t mess up my fucking shelves, Penny.”

You roughly pushed her shoulder away and she flinched. “Jeez. Sorry.”

“Tell me. What happened?”

“Well,” she looked at the ground. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Jason suddenly punched him in the face and almost knocked Brandon out. He fought back, but Jason is really… something. Brandon barely landed a hit, and Jason just kept beating him up to a bloody pulp. Didn’t even stop even when he was on the ground.”

“Jesus.” You looked over the shelves to find Jason. “Yeah. I saw Brandon. That was quite the damage.”

Penny looked at the same direction as you. Now you really wished you were there to see that fight. “He just came back from the hospital. His nose had get reconstructed.”

It eventually made sense. How Jason practically stood off with you and threatened you with your own will.

“I’d be careful around him, Y/N.”

“Please. Have I ever been afraid of anyone?”

“No. But he probably isn’t either.”

You rolled your eyes for the nth time that day, refusing to tell Penny your confrontation with Jason. She tapped your shoulder. “See you tomorrow. Good luck with the shelving.”

You nodded at her, then she left. Finishing the last book, you made your way back to the cart where Jason was standing, eyes glued to a dusty old book you couldn’t see the title of. Going through the books left in your cart, you coughed.

“Got into another fight, Todd?”

“Huh?” he looked up, then his fingers grazed against his own cheek. “Oh. Yeah. I guess.”

“Next time you pick a fight, make sure I’m at my free period.”

“Shut up.”

You chuckled. “What did Brandon say to you?”

“None of your business.”

“I told you what happened to me, asshole. Now it’s your turn.”

He went back to his book. He went through your cart fast. And about twenty of them were left for you to shelf. You kept at it, and Jason snarled at you.

“That guy’s an asshole. You know that?”

“Yeah.”

“No one saw him talk shit at me while I was at lunch. That’s when I lunged at him. That fucker deserved it.”

Strangely satisfied, you shrugged. You folded your arms and he leaned against the shelf on his shoulder, looking at you.

“I’ve thrown a few punches at him myself. Once or twice.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“He had the balls to hit on me two years ago. Aggressively.”

A breath of air escaped his nostrils. And he looked amused listening to you even. “Of course you would.” He ran a hand across his hair, and you got a better look of his eyes.

4:30. And only five books left in the cart. You threw the one you had on your hand back into the pile and waves your hands in the air. “You got the rest, don’t you Todd?”

He just stared at you after you didn’t give him a chance to pounce back, walking out of the library before the second hand reached the number 12. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked out the school and got your phone from your pocket.

Just as you were about to call your mom, you got a text from her.

‘Dad is here, Y/N. He’ll pick you up in a few mins.’

The smirk you had on your face died down in an instant. You almost wanted to throw your phone at the ground, but you paid too much money for that. So you settled with your foot violently landing at a metal trashcan that was unfortunate enough to be near you at the time. It crashed onto the ground and the garbage flew out of it all over the mowed grass. You stormed out into the sidewalk without catching anyone else’s eye.

‘don’t bother. I’ll walk home.’ You replied.

A thirty-minute walk didn’t seem to be much work anymore.

-----

“Now.” Ms. Peterson’s shaky hands placed a cart full of books on Jason’s side of the table, with you sitting right across from him, and she wheeled over an empty cart to you, then placed a clipboard on top.

“These were returned this week. I haven’t got the energy to do these myself. So you two oughtta do it. List these down and watch out for any damages. These kids read like they’re tossing them around the fucking house.”

You’ve never heard an old woman swear until that day.

“Take them back to the shelves when you're done. And make sure you finish today.”

She was getting grouchier by the second. You scoffed at her and picked up an old book from the pile. “How are we supposed to look for new damages? These are older than I am.”

“Just look for any crumples on the covers, and flip through them if you see any rips.”

His thumb went through a whole book in seconds and he gave the book back to you. “That one’s clean. Place it back to the cart.”

“Just give me that.”

You took the clipboard and clicked on a pen. “I’ll list them down. Tell me if they’re any good.”

“Fine. Fundamentals of Statistics. All good.”

You ticked the box on the clipboard beside the title and got the book from his hand, placing it on the cart. While you did that, he picked up another, went through the cover, flipped through the pages, then gave it to you. “Tenth Grade Chemistry. All good.”

Another tick. You placed it on the cart and it went on and on for several books. Jason knew exactly what to look for. Any bent spines, creased covers, he looked at those books, especially the old literature ones you’d often see him skim through every day. You held out a hand for him to give you the next one, but he was busy reading a page from a Shakespearean poetry collection.

Jason was a complete nerd. Even when his demeanor clearly didn’t look like it. You wanted to laugh at him if he didn’t actually look cute with his nose scrunched up like that. You’ve also made fun of that side of him so much within a span of a few days that it just got boring by now. Instead of a chuckle, you smiled.

“Dude.”

“Sorry.” He gave the book to you. “All good.”

Just as you placed it on the cart, he brought up a book with a torn cover and his face almost broken in disgust.

“I know. What an animal.”

He placed the book on the side like it was toxic waste and sneered. “Take note of that.”

That’s when you laughed. He just scowled at you while he continued with the next one. You finished through the pile with 45 minutes to spare, which was all the time you had to place these back on the shelves.

You both got up from the table and Jason pushed the cart with you leading the way. Starting with the science books, you started to loosen up the shelves.

“Getting the hang of this, Y/N?”

“Don’t get used to this. We still have nine weeks. By the end of this you’d be repulsed at the sight of paper.”

“I read everyday, just so you know. And I have a library of my own. Jokes on you.”

“An asshole and a huge geek. You’ve really got it all.”

“Funny.”

You were faster with the shelving, definitely. But you weren’t proud of it.

“You should at least try with Edgar Allan Poe. If you like all those dark, spooky stuff.”

“What makes you think I like… that?”

He almost wanted to laugh. “You're covered in black and your eyeliner’s about as dark as a crayon.”

“And you're just about as bright as daisies, right Todd?”

“I didn’t mean to insult you. Chill out. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

You… kept silent.

“Here.” He went to the shelf near you and picked out a small book. On the cover was a face of a thin man with a funny mustache and a black bird, a raven most probably, perched on his shoulder.

“Poe’s one of the best there is. Just go through it.”

Reluctantly, and with nothing catty for you so lash out on when you’ve never even had a conversation like this, you looked at him and slowly took the book from his hand.

“We don’t have to tell Mother Goose over there.”

Ms. Peterson was busy playing solitaire on her computer. You turned back to Jason, then at the book, a hand going over the cover. Helping Jason with the cart, you’ve basically circled the whole library, finishing most of the pile.

4:35. That was a first.

With the final books on the shelf, and almost no one left in the library except you, Jason, Mother Goose, and about two other kids sleeping on the tables. You leaned your back against the shelf and started reading the first story of Poe’s collection. The Murders of Rue Morgue. You’d never admit it. Not right now. But the title alone intrigued you.

“You just gonna leave me to finish your work, Y/N?”

“Not telling you to do anything, Todd.”

You kept your silence with your eyes glued into the book and Jason kept with the shelves. Almost no one was left in the library, but you didn’t feel the need to rush home tonight.

Maybe not for a while. Not with him back at home.

The light on the pages were shaded by a dark shadow, and when you looked up, you stood frozen. Jason smelled nice. And you could smell him even better now that you were squished between him and the shelf, your eye level right at the veins of his neck. His arm was reached out to the shelf way above your head and you pressed the book flat against your chest. He shoved the book in place, then he looked down at you, meeting your eyes. His face was so fucking close to your own, and he didn’t even move after he’s shoved the book in place. His arm lowered, looking at you, and his features were soft. You’ve never seen a jaw that defined until that very moment.

Holy fuck, he’s so cute.

Slower. Even slower. He pulled away. Or it might have been just a split second. You could barely tell the difference.

“You’re in the way.”

You managed to just nonchalantly look back into your book, ignoring his longing stare at you when he leaned over the cart.

“I’ve heard of this guy before,” you said, steering away his attention on you and back to the book. “I heard his work gets really dark.”

“So you do like that kind of stuff?”

“Mostly movies,” you smirked. “I’ve watched the Exorcism of Emily Rose more times than I’ve been sent to the VP’s office.”

He laughed at that, pressing his hand against the shelf.

“You’ll enjoy that book, then.”

“Eh,” you shrugged. “We’ll see.”

But you found your attention drawn back to the book yet again. A longer while passed, and Jason wheeled the now empty cart to the side before walking back to you.

“You’re not eager to go home today.”

Your teeth went over your lips, keeping your attention to the words.

“So?”

“I saw you. You were walking home yesterday.”

“It’s my choice. It’s not a big deal.”

“I also saw you mutilate a trash can.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just leave me alone.”

“Is everything alright at home?”

“Todd, I swear you’ll realize how much I’ve been holding back punching you in the face for a whole week.”

“You might not have known. But I came from an abusive family myself before Bruce Wayne took me in. I know neglectful parents when I see it.”

You really wanted to punch him this time. For real. Just one to the face. It shouldn’t hurt that bad. For you, anyways.

“Didn’t know you were fucking loaded.”

“I’m not.” He reached out his hand to you. “Give me your phone.”

“TODD.”

There was no one to shush you now, but even your slightly raised voice didn’t back Jason down. He scoffed at you then settled for a piece of paper ripped from the clipboard. He took the pen and wrote something down.

“Those are two numbers. Mine and a help hotline. I don’t take these things lightly. You might be a pain, but not even you deserve to go through that.”

Even more. In just a few weeks, one guy has made you speechless more times than anyone else has in years. Again, you had no insult to hurl or a sarcastic comment that would’ve naturally came to you otherwise.

You took the paper and placed it between the pages of your book. Then you leaned against the shelf, staring blankly at the ground.

“I’m not being abused.” Your voice has never been lighter. “But… thanks.”

“You better start heading home by now.”

He walked out the door, and eventually, you followed.

You finished the entire book that night. And the day after, you read it twice.

 ---------------------------------

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-------------------------------

 Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf @ loxbbg  reclusive-chicken-nugget

[redvoid-40]

First Time - Gaara

Hello! So I was supposed to post more of those NSFW Alphabet headcanons but I received this ask and decided to work on it instead. Let me just warn you all that I lost control with this ask and it almost became a one-shot. =.=

Hope you all enjoy it and thanks for the ask! :)

If you’re looking for more content you can check my masterlist, and feel free to send an ask too. ;)

Now, before we begin, there are some things we need to establish: 

Gaara would date his SO for a long while before getting married; mostly because they were too busy with their respective duties to organize the ceremony. 

They would wait until after they were married to have sex for the first time (it just feels right in the Naruto universe, where everyone dates just one person in their entire lives and then marry them at like 20 years old). 

Gaara has big dick energy, therefore he has a big dick

All right, let’s get started! :D

NSFW under the cut. Minors please steer clear!

Wedding night! Gaara and his SO for once have some time for themselves, courtesy of Kankuro and Baki organizing the whole ceremony behind their backs.

After the ceremony and the reception, the newly weds would be escorted to the nicest Hotel in Suna for their wedding night. And by escorted I mean Kankuo pretty much manipulated them into going there by making a non-refundable reservation and guilt-tripping them into not wasting it 

So there they were, two young virgins in love who have been dating for years now.

They were a mess of nerves and arousal, wanting desperately to get there but not knowing where to start.

His SO giggled nervously. “Maybe we should… take our clothes off?”

Gaara nodded nervously before moving to pull on his clothes with trembling fingers. He had successfully removed his suit and was unbuttoning his pants when he noticed his SO struggling with her dress.

“L-Let me help you.”

That sweet boy would gently help his SO peel the layers of fabric from her body, feeling his nervousness slowly give way to raw desire as he revealed her soft skin.

His fingers stopped trembling as they navigated over her body, taking a moment to knead the muscles on her shoulders, caress the skin of her thighs and grope the flesh of her ass

Once she was bare for him expect for her panties, Gaara would sit down on the mattress and pull her to straddle his lap.

When his rands rose to fondle his SO’s breasts there was just a bit of hesitance. Gaara took his time cupping the mounds of flesh, letting his thumb run over her hardened nipples as he watched his SO throw her head back and let out a moan of pleasure.

“Look at me.” He almost begged as he lowered his mouth to a nipple. He flattened his tongue against the small nub, green eyes fixed on his SO as her face became even redder. Gazes fixed on each other Gaara finally closed his lips around her nipple and bit on it gently before sucking the flesh into his mouth.

He felt his SO jolt against him as a loud whine left her lips and it encouraged him to keep going. While one hand fondled her other breast, the other pulled her hips tightly against him, pressing her pussy against his hard cock.

Overwhelmed as she was, his SO didn’t lag. Her hands found their way underneath his clothes, running freshly manicured nails against the skin of his back, making the most delicious shivers run down his spine.

“Take off your clothes” She begged, raising her hands to fist them gently around his hair and pull his head back for a kiss. “I want to touch you.”

Gaara obliged. Pushing her gently to lay against the pillows he quickly peeled off the clothes from his upper body.

His SO mewled in delight. Despite his fighting style, as a Shinobi Gaara still kept himself fit. His upper body was svelte but strong, and his SO wasted no time running her hands over his pecs and down to the light outline of his six-pack. She swallowed as her fingers still inched down, unbuttoning his pants and delving underneath them to grab his cock.

Gaara threw his head back as a moan left him, missing the wide-eyed stare on his SO’s face as she pumped his hardening cock.

She had ground against him and groped him through his pants a few times before, but this was the first time she actually held him in her hand.

H-He’s so big.

She let out a whimper at the idea of taking all of it inside her. She couldn’t deny she was a bit intimidated by his size, but more than anything she was eager.

She wanted that cock inside of her. All of it.

At last recovering some semblance of rational thought Gaara moved again, cupping his SO’s face and drawing her in a languorous kiss as he pressed forward until she was laying down again so he could press against her, hips cradled in the heat between her thighs.

Gaara pulled back from the kiss and took his time admiring his SO’s flushed expression. He smiled as he delved down for another quick peck of her lips.

“I love you.”

His SO smiled dreamily and he kissed her again. This time on a corner of her mouth, then the other, and then he moved down. Down her neck and clavicle, stopping to lick and nip her nipples before trailing down her abdomen.

He planted a last kiss over her panties before his hands pulled them down her thighs.

“G-Gaara, you don’t-”

“Let me, my love. I want to.”

His SO slowly nodded, letting her head fall back on the pillows as Gaara dove between her legs.

He started slow, kissing the inside of her thighs as a thumb found its way to her clit. His hands were trembling slightly now. He had done some research about sex, even asked Kankuro for tips, but it didn’t change the fact that this was the first time he was doing something like that. He didn’t want to disappoint his SO.

But the moan that left her lips quickly eased his worries. “Good?”

“Oh, Gaara… So good.”

More confident, Gaara at last dared to replace his thumb with his tongue. And if the whine that left his SO’s lips were anything to go by, he was doing something right.

“I-I’m going to put a finger inside you, okay?”

Breathing hard, his SO nodded. “Please.”

Gaara swallowed. Watching his SO writhe and beg for his touch was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wanted nothing more than to thrust his cock inside her already.

But he knew he had to prepare her first. This was her first time too and Gaara would never forgive himself if he caused his SO any pain.

So he took his time, slowly thrusting his index finger inside of her, moaning as he pumped gently inside her hot, wet, tight walls as his tongue played with her clit. Once she was a trembling mess in his hands, he dared to push in another finger, and, once she was used to it, he pumped faster.

She shook and moaned and called his name until her entire body locked and trembled as her climax washed over her.

And Gaara drank it all in with eager eyes and open mouth. His cock was throbbing inside his pants but he led her through her orgasm patiently. Stopping only when she was a limp, dazed mess on the bed.

He moved to kiss her deeply and waited patiently for her to catch her breath, whispering words of adoration and love against her lips.

“Are you ready?” He asked and his SO nodded eagerly.

To her surprise, instead of freeing his cock and thrusting inside of her, Gaara rolled them over, so she was straddling his hips.

“Gaara?”

“I’d feel better if you took the lead on this.” Gaara admitted, blushing. “I’m not sure if I can hold myself. I don’t want to hurt you.”

His SO smiled softly at him, bending to press a soft kiss on his lips. “You’d never hurt me, Gaara. I know that. But if it’ll put you more at ease, I can do it. Just…” She blushed. “Don’t make fun of me if I look weird.”

His SO pulled back a little to pull Gaara’s pants and underwear from his legs, letting his hard, throbbing cock free. He let out a low groan at the relief.

Finally seeing her boyfriends’- scratch that, husband’s cock in all of its glory, she gulped. Maybe Gaara wasn’t wrong in thinking he could hurt her.

Gaara’s cock was thicker and longer than she had imagined. Now fully erect, it reached just below his navel, and when she grabbed it, she could barely touch her thumb and forefinger.

She pumped Gaara’s cock once, earning herself another low moan as his hands reached for her thighs. He gripped her flesh as his sea-foam eyes zeroed on her hand on his cock.

Slowly, carefully, she started to lower herself on the head. The stretch burned, but it wasn’t actually painful. Gaara had made sure she was far too wet and aroused to experience anything more than a mild discomfort.

And even that discomfort was more arousing than anything. That burn made her salivate and moan as she impaled herself on his cock.

“Ah-! Y-You feel so good. Oh my… ah! Please.”

Gaara was mumbling incoherent pleas as he watched his cock disappear inside of his SO. He had never felt anything that could compare to those wet, hot, velvety walls grasping his cock so tightly. Hands holding onto his SO’s thighs for dear life he tried to focus on his breathing to keep himself from coming on the spot.

His SO wasn’t fairing much better. Hands laid on his pecs for support she breathed fast, trying to adjust to his cock carving a path within her. He was barely halfway inside of her and she was already overwhelmed. A tear spilled from her eyes as she soldiered on and took another inch of him.

Her stomach churned slightly. She had never felt so full in her lie before. But still it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted all of it.

Gaara, despite his own struggles, noticed the droplet fall on his chest and that made the fog of pleasure dissipate enough for him to focus on his SO’s face. When he saw how rapidly she was breathing and how teary her eyes were his heart broke. I’m hurting her.

Immediately he sat up and moved his hands to her hips and lift her from him until only his tip was inside of her.

His sudden movements startled his SO, and when she looked at his eyes, she was speechless at finding him staring at her seriously, almost sorrowfully. “Gaara? What’s wrong?”

Gaara shook his head. “I told you: I don’t want to hurt you. If you don’t like this I-”

“I love this!” She protested, cupping Gaara’s face with both hands. “I love you, and I want this. I want this more than anything.”

“But… You’re crying?”

She blushed, but did not move her gaze from his. “I won’t lie… it’s overwhelming. You’re pretty big-” Gaara chocked and blushed at her words. “-but it’s not actually painful. It burns a little, but in a pleasant way.”

“But-”

“Gaara, believe me when I say this: I want you. I want all of you.”

Gaara almost came with those words alone. His arms wrapped around his SO, pulling her body flush to his as he kissed her with everything he had.

Noticing he had finally relaxed, his SO lowered herself on him again. Both gasped into the kiss, equally overwhelmed by their union.

She went as slowly as she had before, careful as she took him inch by delicious inch, until the back of her thighs were flush against his.

“You’re inside me.” She breathed out against him, voice trembling. “Gaara, you… ah! you feel so good.”

Gaara moaned his response, burying his face on the crook of her neck as he held her tightly against himself. He felt tears in his eyes, feeling a sudden rush of emotions hit him hard. When she moved, gently undulating her hips against his, Gaara sobbed in pleasure. His SO noticed it and she held him tighter to herself, kissing his brow, cheeks and wherever she could reach.

“I love you.” Gaara spoke into her ear, delirious with pleasure and something more. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

It didn’t take long for Gaara to come, and for a moment he was mortified. He feared he had disappointed his SO.

But she assured him it was fine. More than fine, it was perfect.

[serararku]

Memories and Reveries Pt 1: Kazukane Crimson

<Theme>

Red maple trees shivered in the morning light while a thick fog rolled across the forest floor to chase the night away. Beneath the brightening sky knelt a lone Raen girl at the start of her twelfth summer, kneading dirty clothes against a washboard at the bank of the Kazukane River. The blisters on her hands had yet to heal from churning butter the night prior, but if she wanted to spend some time by herself, she needed to tackle these chores now lest she work well into the evening. She wisely decided to bring her straw hat to protect her grey skin from cooking when the sun burned away the fog, a satchel to gather apples along the path to keep her hunger at bay, and a pointed stick in case some wild animals started getting ideas. Yet as she washed her father’s trousers to watch the dirt slither down the river, she began getting ideas of her own.

Mizuna Daisho was on borrowed time. She only had two more years to attract a suitor, and competition was tough; just about every girl in Kokoro Village was fairer, more physically developed, and far more submissive. Mizuna’s hands and feet were covered in calluses, her body was still as flat as a flounder, and she loved spending her free time secluding herself from the other children. If she didn’t get any marriage prospects by the time she turned fourteen she would likely face a lifetime of being a crone; her parents planned to sell her to a family in another village, but word of Mizuna’s attitude had already traveled halfway across the Raen settlements. Hopefully she could physically mature into a more desirable body before she became a burden on her family.

Snap!

Mizuna shot up to her feet and spun around from the sound. "Hello?!" She called out, dropping her laundry to grab her pointed stick to defend herself; any creature large or bold enough to hunt an Au Ra for breakfast wouldn’t give away its position before the strike. Was it a monster instead? An angry spirit? She clenched her jaw and stiffened when a boy came stumbling over tree roots and out of the morning mist. Not just any boy either- one of the cruelest oafs she's ever had to deal with. 

"Uh… hi… Mizuna-kun." Takaatsu  Kusakari mumbled, waving awkwardly. "I was hoping you were here…"

He was too big to stab with her stick, plus he was strong enough to rip it out of her hands and snap it in half over his knee if he wanted to. Instead she dropped her weapon and reached for her satchel full of apples. "Go away!" She demanded with a trembling voice. "Just leave me alone!"

"Wait!" He raised his hands to shield himself from the shiny red apple spiraling toward his face; Mizuna had one hell of a throwing arm despite her size. "I wanted to apologize…" She was already stretching her arm back with the second attempt to nail him between the eyes when she paused. "For laughing at you… for all those stupid pranks… for… for calling you Tiny Tiddy Mizzy…"

This time she lifted her foot when she put her whole body into this throw. A red flash of fruit exploded on his arms, sending bits of apple all over the forest floor; he would have definitely been hurting if it weren't for the hardened scales lining his forearm absorbing most of it.

It was hard to pick out another apple while she was blinking away these blinding tears. She had fallen victim to their merciless name-calling and cruel pranks all year, and she would rather die than fall for any more of their tricks again. But to hear Takaatsu laughing along with them- someone she was close friends with ever since they were toddlers, that one hurt the most.

When she finally found the biggest, fattest, and hardest apple to chuck at him, she looked up to see Takaatsu bowing with his fat head facing the ground and his arms at his sides. "Please forgive me!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking twice. Muzuna was surprised yet cautious; shattering this juicy fruit against the top of his head at this angle and distance would be almost too easy. But why would he make himself vulnerable like this? What was his goal here?

"Who put you up to this?" She demanded, straining her eyes in hopes of finding his friends hiding behind the trees, barely containing their laughter. Yet no one was there…

"I wanted to be cool… for everyone to like me. When Matsumi singled you out, everyone just tried to impress her. I'm so sorry for all those dumb things I did… I trampled on our friendship because I was afraid they wouldn't accept me if I didn't…" Takaatsu barely moved a muscle, his eyes trailing up just high enough to see her feet; his scalp wasn't stinging from her throw, so that was a start. "I just wanted to fit in…"

Mizuna sucked in air as the first tear rolled down her cheek. "I wanted to fit in too…" She admitted, swallowing dryly. She wanted so desperately to hate him for humiliating her again and again. But she was just tired of being so angry and miserable all the time; and most of all, now more than ever, she wanted to be left alone.

"I wrote you something…" Takaatsu was slow to rise to his full height. He struggled to retrieve a crumpled parchment from his pocket and fumbled with it more when he pulled it open. He had to clear his throat more than once, with beads of sweat glistening on his forehead; his face was flushed and he was shaking- it looked like he was about to vomit.

“Well?” Mizuna huffed, her arm starting to ache from holding the apple aloft for so long. “Out with it!”

“M-Mizuna-kun… the Diasho Diamond… the Maiden of the Mists…” He blinked a few times and inhaled sharply before continuing. “With hair like bending reeds in the gentle breeze, and eyes like jadefire. You are a sleeping dragon, generous with fury and flame to those who disturb your rest. Your voice is honey… a song befitting the dancing waves of the sea. I risk your wrath, your ire, your warmth. I know the danger but I still speak your name to the wind. I still call out to the spirit in the fog.” Slowly he looked up to finally meet her gaze, no longer reading from the parchment in his trembling hands. “You’ve placed a curse upon me. I’ve seen your treasure at the back of your lair. I’ve heard your siren song along the stillwater. I am a moth and you are my candle… and I am forever drawn to your light. Mizuna-kun…! I…”

She had flushed a deep green in the face at this point, her arms heavy at her sides. The apple she was going to chuck at him had long dropped to her feet. Furthermore she was utterly speechless; no one had dared talk to her like that. A ferocious dragon? What did he mean when he called her that? And a ghost? None of it made any sense… and she didn’t know how to feel. But she knew she didn’t hate him. Not nearly as much as she used to.

He suddenly stiffened and took a few steps back. “Oh man…!” He mumbled, pointing at her. No… not at her… behind her. “What…?!” Mizuna was reluctant to turn around, partially fearing this was a setup for one of his cruelest pranks to date. But when she did turn to look at what he was pointing at, her blood ran cold and all the strength she had fled into the crisp morning air.

The Kazukane River was turning red. Deep and dark and crimson. 

Soon shattered pieces of wood and broken wagon wheels began drifting downstream. Then came the livestock torn to pieces, their dull lifeless eyes and mangled faces occasionally poking out of the water before sinking and turning sideways when their legs scraped along the riverbed. The bloody water stained the few pieces of laundry Mizuna had soaking in the river, but she didn’t even notice. Especially once the Auri bodies came drifting down to greet her.

Men, women, and children; the river carried them all. The dead would be ferried to the mouth of the river and swallowed by the sea, their faces contorted with the permanent scars of their final moments- filled with terror. Mizuna felt nothing when she stared at the remains of people she once knew, staring blankly into their eyes as they shifted, bobbed, and floated by. The entire population of Shinegao Village seemed to drift along the stained waters, from infants to elderly. 

"Mizuna!" Takaatsu's voice coaxed her out of her dazed stupor. "We have to go!"

She looked away from their faces once the dread began to settle in; she took a few meager steps back, but was still processing what she was looking at. What kind of horrible monster could slaughter an entire vil-

"MIZUNAAA!" Black scales burst forth from the river! Through the red mist and vapor came a hooked claw that raked across her stomach to violently tear holes through her dress! Mizuna stumbled back in shock and fell hard onto her back, knocking the wind from her lungs! She had just enough time to gaze upon the face of this monster as it slowly stepped out onto the bank!

The oni towered over the two children, with vibrant crimson skin painted with inky black markings. Across its collar were the severed heads of villagers strung together by their cracked and broken horns. But it’s eyes…! Fiery pits from the hottest hells, yet empty like the hungering void! Long black horns sprouted from the sides of its head, with tattered lips peeled back in a sadistic grin to reveal a mouthful of jagged teeth stained with the blood of its prey! Mizuna stared at its form and became paralyzed with terror!

Only Takaatsu grabbing Mizuna by the arm and yanking her onto her feet broke this insidious spell. The creature made a deep growling sound that vaguely mimicked laughter as it watched them flee into the forest, and Mizuna glanced over her shoulder just in time to see its burning red eyes disappear behind the grey backdrop of the morning mist.

She could barely keep up. Her tattered dress was nearly falling off her body, and blood trickled from her stomach from the slash, but he didn’t dare let go of her wrist. It wasn’t until they made it to the other end of the woods and stumbled upon the Hermit’s House did they stop and take a breath. 

“What’s going on?” Okeya-san demanded, walking out of his house with his pitchfork. “What are you two kids doing out here so early?”

“Sir! A monster is coming!” Mizuna squeaked out between gasps. “It killed everyone in Shinegao!”

“What are you talking-” He paused as he caught figures emerging from the mist; instantly he recognized their markings. “G-get inside, children! Don’t make a sound you hear me?!” Takaatsu pulled Mizuna into the hermit’s shack, and ducked behind a large clay pot to hide. Okeya-san dropped his pitchfork and began walking toward the strangers, who stopped running and stood up to their full height to approach him. “W-wait…! Dotharl!” He called out, struggling to keep his composure. “N-no food! No glory! U-unarmed, see?! No sport!” He collapsed to his knees when the oni emerged, towering over Okeya-san as well; this creature was gigantic, and poorly disguised as an auri like them.

“Where children?” It demanded in a voice and accent as thick as mud. “Two. Tiny?”

“N-no children came this way…!” He clasped his hands together and bowed to show his surrender. ��No children! J-just me!”

The oni glanced back at the others and sneered, bearing its teeth again. Okeya-san tried to reason with it again, but the creature suddenly grabbed him by the horns. Mizuna squeaked at the wet snap before Takaatsu could cover her mouth to stifle her panicking. The oni then planted a clawed foot on his shoulder and pulled off his head with three crunchy yanks. Another monster began to approach the shack with a cruel grin spread across its face, with burning yellow eyes and trophies from its conquest dangling from its form. But instead of just rushing in and slaughtering the two Raen children, it plucked the torch from the patio and swung the door open.

"Buuuurning!" It laughed, tossing the torches onto a bale of wheat before slamming the door closed; last night's rain and the morning mist left the outside of the shack too damp to burn, but everything inside was bone dry. Mizuna watched the growing flames devour the wheat in seconds before it began to creep along the floorboards and walls. If they tried rushing out of the only door, the murderers would simply catch and kill them; she didn’t have any answers and worse, the shack was quickly running out of air.

“Over here!” Takaatsu huffed, working his fingers between the floorboards in the corner to begin pulling them up. Mizuna reached down with one hand to help him, but kept her other hand over her mouth to avoid breathing in the darkening smoke. Just as the roaring flames began to surround them, the shoddy woodwork gave way; the Hermit’s House was elevated over the ground, but not by much- last night's storm had turned the dirt below into a sticky paste. Still, it beat burning to death. Mizuna and Takaatsu crawled along their bellies like salamanders to escape the flames but they weren’t out of the woods yet.

As soon as Takaatsu wiggled free from the underside of the shack and could stand up straight, he pulled Mizuna out by the arms and they began to make a run for it. It was hard to sprint in her dress even when it was clean and tidy, but now she nearly tripped on the torn threads that clung to her legs from the mud. But if they could just make it back to their hidden village then they could wait out these killers and-

THOP!

Mizuna’s legs buckled and she fell down the steep hill, rolling over and over until she slid the last few yalms at the bottom. Dazed, dizzy, and confused, she pulled her face out of the mud and gasped for breath, before desperately attempting to rise to her feet. “AUGH!” Jolting pain up her left leg stopped her from putting any pressure on her foot, and when she smeared mud away from her eyes, a cold dread gripped her by the back of the neck. 

An arrow had pierced her lower calf to spill her blood into the muck; she didn’t know where the impact of the shot or the tumble down the hill broke her leg, but she was quickly running out of time. Takaatsu was nowhere to be found; he likely raced down the hill and jumped over the ditch in a single bound. Mizuna was now alone, bleeding and broken. It was only a matter of seconds before those monsters found her. “TAKA!” She cried out, grabbing handfuls of dirt and mud to pull herself along. “TAKE PLEASE! DON’T LEAVE ME!”

He reappeared out of the fog, scrambling down into the ditch to try and pull her out. “Come on! Come on!”

“M-my leg-!” She pleaded, unable to look at the twisted thing any longer. “Takaatsu please! Please don’t leave me with those things!”

“Oh no-!” He choked, glancing up and behind her. Mizuna whipped her head around to see seven oni standing at the top of the hill, with the one responsible for shooting her leg drawing another arrow. Takaatsu reached down and pulled her up by the collar of her shirt, yanking her out of the mud and heaving her over his shoulder. Gritting through the pain Mizuna clung to him for dear life, her fearful gaze locked on the creatures who slowly began to descend in their direction.

“I’m going to die!” She closed her eyes as tears began streaming down her face. She couldn’t bear to look at anything any longer- she simply braced herself for the bite of an arrow that never came. All she could hear was Takaatsu’s heavy breathing, all she could feel was the bounce of each step. Mizuna spent a lifetime waiting for death to take her, an eternity between every heartbeat. She sagged over his shoulders like a giant doll, letting her arms dangle and swing freely while she silently prayed to the Dawn Father for this terrible nightmare to end.

“HEY! HEEEYYY!” Takaatsu began shouting, drawing her back to reality. “Help us! Someone help us!” Mizuna opened her eyes just in time to see them cross the threshold of their home. All of Kokoro Village came stumbling out of their homes to witness this commotion, with murmured whispers and gasps slipping from the residents when they saw the sorry state of the two children.

Takaatsu almost dropped her when he collapsed into the dirt, using what little strength he had left to gently place her on the ground. Her mother Kana came running out of their house to surround Mizuna in her arms, but she could barely hear her mother’s panicked voice over the gathering crowd’s shouting. She looked around for Takaatsu, but he had vanished behind the legs of adults standing over her to get a better look.

“That’s enough! Get out of the way!” Only one voice could carry that far and demand that much respect. Mizuna’s father came rushing out of his dojo, almost stumbling and losing his cane more than once; but with his free hand he pulled and shoved people out of his way until the crowd got the message and gave him and his family much needed space. “Mizuna?! What happened?! What is the meaning of this?!”

“M-monsters Oto-san! There are monsters out in the mists! They killed everyone in Shinegao! And they killed Okeya-san!” Mizuna’s heart was pounding in her throat when she delivered the news, but she felt safe again in her mother’s soothing embrace. “H-he called them Do… dodo… d-”

“Dotharl.” Lord Daisho grimaced before his steely gaze shot to the entrance of the village. “Fetch me my sword and armor!”

“The blood trail…!” A villager gasped, pointing at Mizuna’s wounded leg. “Oh no…! You led them right to us! We’re doomed!”

Fear surged through the crowd like waves rippling across the disturbed surface of still water, but her father stood up straight and cleared his throat. “Women and children are to get inside! Anyone who can stand and fight- form up on me!” The villagers were terrified, but they did as he commanded. The elderly were ushered into their homes along with the children, with the women already setting buckets of water along the main path in the event of fire. Mizuna’s mother snapped the arrow’s shaft and pushed the barb through her leg, before she began wrapping the wound tightly. Even through the pain the little girl looked around for Takaatsu, spotting him still on one knee and drenched with mud and sweat.

“You there! Kusakari!” Her father commanded, pointing a finger at the young boy while his pupils rushed to fasten his old samurai armor onto his aging body. “Are you injured?!”

“N-no, Daisho-sama…!” 

“You have given my daughter nothing but misery for the past year. You and the other brats have tortured her for far too long!” Takaatsu looked like he was about to wet himself, pressing his hands and knees onto the ground and bowing before the old swordmaster. “But because of your actions today… my daughter still breathes. Leaving her to die would have bought you enough time to return here alone… but you didn’t. You have shown great courage and bravery. Rise, Kusakari! Fight by my side and you shall have my daughter’s hand!” Mizuna pursed her lips in shock as Takaatsu shot to his feet, still out of breath and trembling, but seemingly taller than he’s ever been.

Hidekore Daisho went by many names over the years, but Kokoro Village simply knew him as the Bending Reed. His skill with a katana was unparalleled in his prime, but his prime was long gone. He couldn’t stand for long without the use of his cane, and his eyesight was beginning to fade. Worse still, he was terribly out of practice; he hadn’t so much as held a real katana in a dozen summers- not since his daughter was born. The villagers were terrified of being pillaged by a horde of Dotharli screamers, yet they rallied behind his call to arms all the same. The village was hidden in the cliffside and the only way out was through the entrance, so what choice did they have?

A dozen farmhands, some as young as ten, and not a shred of combat experience between them. Four hunters and a fisherman who knew how to gut and clean animals but not people. A woodsman who’s only ever swung an axe at trees, and an aging swordmaster. All against at least seven Dotharli berserkers who live and die for the glory of combat. Hidekore had to keep his composure lest the village succumb to panic, and if that were to happen, every single one of them would share in Shinegao Village’s fate. Their one saving grace was Takaatsu and Mizuna’s warning. And despite the Dotharl likely letting them go to lead them back here, he still considered it a boon more than a curse.

Hidekore turned to his family as his chestguard was pulled over his head and tied beneath his shoulders. Leaning hard on his cane he approached his loyal wife and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Whatever happens…” He whispered so low even Mizuna could barely hear him. “We will be together. Always.” Kana closed her watery eyes when her husband gently caressed her cheek and pulled away.

“They’re here!”

He whipped around and tossed his cane aside. “Get inside. Now!”

“Oto-san!” Mizuna cried out, reaching for him. The painted monsters came charging through the main gate, and everyone began stumbling back in terror; everyone but Lord Daisho. “Oto-saaan!” The last thing she saw as her mother slammed the door shut was her father drawing his pearly white katana and dropping the sheathe, with the berserking fiends closing the distance by leaping through the air at him. “OTO-SAAAAN!”

Mizuna jerked awake, her heart pounding in her chest. For a split second she could have sworn her parents were with her in this clinic, but she was alone. Only the steady beeping of the monitor and the low hum of the ceiling fan kept her company. Even after thirty summers her first Dotharli raid was still fresh in her memories, just waiting to peek around the corner and frighten her in her darkest nightmares. No longer concerned with keeping up a professional appearance, she pinched a gloomroot blunt in between her trembling fingers and lit it up. 

Her smoke break would have to come early this time.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

amber amber amber time out time out time out hahahaha jk i’m watching DJ for the thousandth time because you know i got to remember everything that happens before the episode tomorrow (as if i could forget) and anyway i’m at the part where andy is driving like a mad man and i just got the idea of super angsty andy/chris or any other character because holy shit that man is intense and that’s how he would love too (sorry i’m not making much sense probably)💕

A/N- Early morning angst. I hope this describes the intensity of his driving babes. 

Chris arrived early to the set that day, immediately ushered into makeup and wardrobe. Luckily for this look, it wasn't much that had to be done. A bit of concealer and highlights on his face, fluffing and spraying up the hair, and a suit laid out for him to put on. The makeup artist who regularly worked on his sets packed up her kit, easily chatting with him. “Any plans this weekend Chris?” 

Adjusting his tie in the mirror, he shook his head. “Nah, Y/N and I probably be headed out with some friends Saturday night to dinner and that's about it. She's been really busy with the coffee shop, and doing deliveries. Y/N deserves a nice long relaxing weekend.” Once he was satisfied with the tie, Chris glanced around for his silver chain and st.christopeher medallion. “Hey have you-” 

Shy plucked up the necklace he so diligently wore, chuckling. “Can't forget your good luck charm.” Chris plucked it from her hand and slipped it back on, sure to tuck it under his shirt, feeling better to have it hanging back in where it belonged. “Mom gave it to me when I first left home to pursue acting. It's more than a good luck charm at this point.” Stepping out, he held the trailer door open for her. “What set we on again?” The two of them walking off, talking about the upcoming day's projects. 

It was hours later, Chris was in the middle of an emotionally charged scene, and asked for a break. Rubbing the back of his neck to relieve the tension it had caused, he dug out his hone right when it dinged. And then dinged several more times. The chirps making him frown, as it was unusual for it to go off like that with his texts. You usually sent one mid-morning just to say you loved him, and then silent rest of the day till he got home. So to have three in a row surprised him. Looking at the screen, the first text was actually from his sister ‘Call me please’ than another. ‘This is Important.’ than another. ‘Pick up your phone!’ as well as a long stream of missed calls that no one must have heard while he was filming since he had his phone stored in his jacket pocket and offset. 

Worried, he hit the return call, and it was nothing more then a ring before Carly answered “Thank God, Chris you gotta get down to Boston Memorial. Now.” Opening his trailer door, Chris went inside, searching for his car keys. “Carly, why? What happened?” his eyes scanning the counter till he spotted them, and a quick snatch he had them in his grasp. Leaving just as quick as he went inside, he was crossing the parking lot, listening to Carly describe the situation. You had been making a delivery in downtown when your car got t boned in an intersection. Chris could feel fear lacing his chest, cold sweat beading along his forehead when Carly told him they had to cut you out of the car. “Fuck, I will be right there.” Her parting words were “Please be careful Chris.” 

Just as he was unlocking his door, the first assistant came rushing up, breathless, clutching a clipboard to her chest. “Chris! where are you going, your due back on set.” He closed his door, and fumbled with his keys while she knocked on his window, and once he got it started he cracked it open to answer. 

“Emergency, explain later. I gotta go.” And he peeled out, leaving her standing there gaping at him leaving so suddenly. Chris could care less, right now all his focus was on getting to you, making sure you were okay, that you weren't... he couldn't even go there, his mind shutting down that thought right in its tracks. Whipping the wheel to the right to merge into traffic on the interstate, several horns blaring their annoyance at him. Chris just stepped his foot on the gas harder and started weaving his vehicle in and out of the lanes. He was seeing the traffic, the taillights he was rushing upon, hearing the way his tires squealed on the pavement, the burn of rubber. 

But what he was really seeing was how you looked this morning in the barely-there morning streaming through those curtains you loved so much. They would whisp forward in the light breeze the cracked window gave and you would shiver in the early morning chill, pressing in closer to him, your face tucking in his neck. How his fingers would slide over your back, and soft morning kisses were shared. How he rolled over you to cage you in and press against the softness of your body, his kisses traveling down your neck. 

“Chris, you're going to be late.” You would moan softly, your nails barely scrapping up his back and rolling against him. Your words didn't deter him, just giving an Mmmhm noise from his throat while nuzzling your breasts and kissing over the curves, his blue eyes lifted to watch you, biting your lip and watching him with an amused look, your hand traveling to brush through his hair, and tugging lightly. “But if we share the shower, we can save time. and get clean... ish.” You wiggle your brows, and Chris laughs, lifting himself up moving to a stand, you rolling out of bed, and running into the bathroom to get the hot water started. 

And that was just hours ago, now you were fucking clinging to life, and he couldn't get there fast enough. The closer he got to the hospital, the slower the car started to crawl. Bumper to bumper, his hands flexing on the wheel, white-knuckled. Any tighter and he would be wrenching the wheel. “Fuck, WILL YOU JUST GET OUT OF THE WAY!” He screamed in frustration, eyes darting back and forth from windshield to rearview, then to side views, looking for a way out, a way to get closer to the pull off. Flicking blinker on, as soon as he got an inch, he took it, bouncing the car off the curb as he pulled it out of the traffic and into the hospital drive. 

Pulling into emergency, he parked it half hazard, rushing inside. To the desk he in a rush of words ask for you, where were you, was there any word. The person at the reception started to look into your name, when he heard his name. Looking over his shoulder Carly stood there with your sister, waving him over. Chris turned on his heels and started to stride down the hall, and the closer he got, there was more members of your families, sitting, leaning against a wall waiting. Carly met him halfway, and his hands reached out to grasp her gently, looking down in her tear-streaked face. “Carly, please tell me she's okay...” 

She wiped at her face, trying to calm down for him. “She's in surgery right now Chris, they, they haven't come out to tell us anything yet.” That's when she sunk in against her brother's chest, and he tucked her under his chin, taking deep breaths. 

You have to pull through Y/N, I can't lose you babygirl. 

[yikeswtfmate]

Strange Times || Ch. 5

previous part // Strange Times Series Masterlist // next part

Summary: Raymond has to deal with the aftermath and does his best not to lose it again.

Pairing: Raymond (Charlie Hunnam - The Gentlemen, 2020) x Reader

Warnings: language; mentions of violence; mentions and descriptions of blood & bruises and the likes; alcohol consumption; drug consumption

A/N: hello my Ray darlings, I’ve neglected you enough! i know it’s a bit on the short side, but i felt it ended where it should have; part 6 will be the last part, so until then...please enjoy!

There is a small lamp on one of the nightstands that’s doing its best to throw a dim warm light in the dark room. It only reaches a few long strands of hair in the middle of the bed, away from the body that’s curled up in on itself, taking as little space as possible. She looks shrunken, smaller, dimmed down like the last sliver of a setting sun, and the occasional shiver is sometimes accompanied by a heartbreaking whimper.

Raymond is sitting at the bottom of the bed, a hand placed on her feet, watching her breathe under the blankets. He’s been promising himself he’ll go back down in a minute for an hour now, even though the sleeping pills have long since kicked in. He doesn’t want to let her out of his sight, but he knows he’ll eventually have to face the aftermath.

The images of her tightly bound and bloody keep flashing in his mind, and he does his best to keep his rage in check. The rampage he went on has left him drenched in blood, sweat and grime, but he’s not yet been feeling appeased.

He supposes he can let her rest, now that the Oxford house is crawling with nearly every single one of their employees and a vast range of their buddies; even if it weren’t, he’s made sure to be at an arm’s distance from a gun at all times. So he strokes her hair a few times, kisses her forehead – careful not to leave any more blood on her skin, and with a heavy sigh, gets out of the room and closes the door again.

Bunny is sitting in a chair in the corner of the hallway, a grim expression on his own face. He’s lost his jacket sometime during the altercation, and the visible gun tucked in the shoulder holster is an open reminder that Pearson’s men are not playing at the moment. When he sees Raymond, he does nothing more than nod and move his chair closer to the door. He doesn’t have to be told that no one is to enter the room beside Raymond, Mickey or Rosalind. He just prays Y/N will feel better when she wakes up, and hopefully Raymond will have taken a shower by then, because that man is unrecognisable.

Downstairs, Raymond sits down heavily in an armchair. Someone hands him a tumbler of whiskey and there’s a plate of Jaffa cakes on the table in front of him. He stares at the round biscuits, transfixed in another time, wondering how long they’ve been sitting there. Behind him, Rosalind gives someone directions to make tea, before she places a hand on his shoulder and with the other gives him a joint. He takes it out of inertia, but doesn’t light it, suddenly feeling all the adrenaline wearing off, and exhaustion seeping in like a dam breaking loose.

He vaguely registers Mickey taking a seat next to him, already halfway through a blunt of his own, an empty glass on the floor by his foot. He’s just as bloody and dirty, hair mated to one side with sweat, shirt untucked and torn in places. There’s a cut just below his left eyebrow, that might leave a scar, a bruise starting to turn purple on the other side. Raymond supposes he’s not painting a prettier picture.

“You good?” Mickey asks.

Raymond takes a deep breath and drowns the whiskey with a hiss. He lights up his joint and nods. He’s trying to steel himself for the conversation that’s coming, although ironing out the details of what the next steps should be is the last thing he wants to do. He just wants to curl into bed next to Y/N and hold her until the end of time, because he’d be damned if he’ll ever let her go again. Everyone else can go to fucking hell.

*

Three hours later, when the house is starting to quiet down, Raymond finally manages to slip back up. He tells Bunny to go home and get some rest, and silently enters the room. The lamp is still on, but a creaky board in the floor makes Y/N slowly turn her head towards him. They look at each other for a few seconds, and Raymond can see the tear streaks on her sunken cheeks, even more prominent now. He’s not one to show emotion easily, but she can easily read exactly what is going through his head.

“I want to take a shower.” She whispers before he can say anything.

“There are clean towels in the bathroom.” He nods. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“No.” She says, and this hurts Raymond more than all the times he’s been shot.

He’s about to get out of the room again, intent on taking Bunny’s place on the chair and wait for her, however much would be necessary. But Y/N calls his name, a whisper that holds a shadow of the exasperation she’d show him when he’d act dense, and looks at her again.

“I need you to stay with me.” She explains. “And I think you also need a shower.”

At her pointed finger, he looks down at the tattered suit, destroyed beyond hope. He’s past caring, but he’s grateful Rosalind had the mind to send for a change of clothes for both of them. He takes a few steps forward, keeping his eyes on Y/N, careful not to make any sudden movements. He doesn’t think he can take any more pain right this second, so seeing her cower in front of him again is out of the question.

She follows his movements and finally takes off the blankets when he offers her a hand to stand up. With an arm draped over her shoulder, Raymond helps her into the bathroom, where he has to take in a deep breath before looking at her in the sharp lighting. Her hair is tangled, and there’s dried blood in it, her bottom lip is broken and there’s a shallow cut following her jawline, ending in a yellow bruise on her right cheekbone. Rosalind’s done everything she could with a wet towel, but with Y/N refusing to take her clothes off, no one has yet seen the extent of her bruises.

Raymond raises his hands, whispering soft words, cotton candy sweet nothings, reassurances that he needs just as much as she does, as his fingers grasp the hem of her jumper, once beige when she left home an eternity ago. He has to clench his jaw when he tosses it off, and the rage comes back once he sees the purple bruises on her ribs, the scarlet cuts on her collarbones. Y/N hisses off his attempts at talking, and keeps her eyes downcast, refusing to see the pity in his. She works the buttons of his shirt until that too is thrown to the pile, and her cold fingers trace the bruises left by the bullets that had thankfully been stopped by the vest.

Her hands find his shoulders for balance then, silently allowing him to peel off her cashmere pants. He murmurs a little prayer of gratitude that her skin is still as flawless, her legs still as smooth and heavenly, devoid of any mistreatment. Raymond has to take a moment to breathe, kneeling in front of her, forehead on her knees, palms on her ankles. Her fingers move to his head, slowly dragging her nails through his hair. He came to love her doing that, always bringing him a sense of peace and tranquillity that he’s never experienced before. Raymond looks up at her, tears in his eyes while she’s forcing herself to control her own.

“I was so scared.” He whispers. “I was so scared to lose you.”

“It’s alright. You found me.” She says, hand cupping his cheek, and Raymond leans into it. “I knew you would.”

Y/N helps Raymond back up a few minutes later, when she starts shivering in the cold air. They take off their remaining clothes, in a silence that is only filled with grunts and whispers of reassurance. He needs to keep his eyes on her at all times, he finds, an urgency that has nothing to do with lust, as it did whenever she’d undress, but entirely fuelled by the deep dread that still runs through his veins.

Stepping into the shower, she turns on the hot water and stands under it for a few seconds, while Raymond keeps watching her. An extended hand, blindly looking for him, demanding him to join her and then he’s engulfed by the steam and the spray that’s coming off of her. There’s blood mixing with the water, changing the tiles to a pale scarlet. Y/N refuses to look at her feet, and when she opens her eyes, there he is. The only person that she needs.

It takes them a long time to clean themselves, partially because they are both hurt, but mostly because Y/N would stop to grab at him and beg him to hold her. He’d comply every time, each time stroking her hair or drawing soft patterns on her back. She starts crying at one point, a moment that Raymond will forever have ingrained in his brain.

“I’m sorry.” She keeps whispering, wracked by heart wrenching sobs that reverberate through her entire body.

“It’s ok, baby.” Raymond responds, still stroking her hair. “It’s alright, my love. It’s not your fault. You’re here, you’re ok. You’re safe now. You’re with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, love.”

Y/N quietens down eventually, but Ray is the one who needs to hold her now.

“I love you.” He whispers.

She whimpers again, nails clawing at his back. Her head turns into the crook of his shoulder, his hands wrap tighter around her body. There is no more blood at their feet, and clear water is flowing off of their skin. It’s done, and she’s here, back where she belongs; so he kisses the top of her head, just to remind her once more that she’s safe, and he’s never letting go.

“I love you too.”

***

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